mmm 


archive. org/details/babioleprettymilOOduborich 


F.  DU  BOISGOBEY'S  WORKS 

Contained  in  The  Seaside  Library,  Pocket  Edition: 
No.  ,    Pajjea 

82  Sealed  Lips 240 

104  The  Coral  Pin 245 

2()4  Piedouche,  a  French  Detective 

328  Babiole,  the  Pretty  Milliner 

453  The  Lottery  Ticket   

47o  The  Prima  Donna's  Husband 

522  Zig-Zag,  the  Clown;  or.  The  Steel  Gauntlets 188 

523  The  Consequences  of  a  Duel.     A  Parisian  Romance 235 

648  The  Angel  of  the  Bells 180 

697  The  Pretty  Jailer 343 

699  Tlie  Sculptor's  Daughter 286 

782  The  Closed  Door 165 

851  The  Cry  of  Blood 375 

918  The  Red  Band 258 

942  Ca^h  on  Delivery 252 

1076  The  Mystery  of  an  Omnibus 

1080  Bertha's  Secret 180 

1082  The  Severed  Hand   369 

1085  The  IMntapnn  Affair 347 

1088  The  Old  Age  of  Monsieur  Lecoq 232 

1513  The  Nabob  of  Bahour.     Sequel  to   *'The  Old  Age   of 

Monsieur  Lecoq  " 250 

1780  The  Blue  Veil 232 

1762  The  Detective's  Eye 

1765  llie  Red  Lottery  Ticket 

1777  A  Fight  for  a  Fortune 191 

1940  The  Temple  of  Death.     Sequel  to  "The  Coral  Pin " 248 

1941  The  ]\[ysterv  of  the  Oak.     Sequel  to  "  The  Red  Band". .  .284 

2032  The  Victim' of  Destiny.     Sequel  to  "Babiole,  the  Pretty 

Milliner" 

2033  The  Harvest  of  (  rime.     Sequel  to  "  The  Closed  Door  ". . 
2036  The  Countess  de  Marcenac.    Sequel  to  "Bertha's  Secret 'M80 


ALPHONSE   DAUDET'S  WORKS 

Contained  in  The  Seaside  Library,  Pocket  Edition: 
No.  Pages 

584  Jack 266 

574  The  Nabob.     A  Story  of  Parisian  Life  and  Manners 384 

1368  Lise  Tavernier 

1629  Tartarin  of  Tarasccn 

1666  Sidonie 262 

1670  The  Little  Good-for-Nothing. .-. 354 

2081  Sappho 


BABIOLE, 


THE    PRETTY    MILLINER 


THANSLATED  PROM  THE  FRENCH  OP 

fortune'  du  boisgobey. 


OOPTBIOHT,  1884,  BY   GeOBGE    MUNMb 


NEW  YORK; 

GEORGE  MUNRO'S  SONS,  PUBLISHERS, 


A   SKIN   OF   BEAUTY   IS   A   JOY   FOREVER. 
DR.   T.   FELIX    GOURAUD'S 

Oriental  Cream,  or  Magical   Beautifier, 

Removes  Tan.  Pimples,  Freckles,  Moth-Patches,  Rash 
and  Skin  diseases,  and  every  blemish  on  beauty,  and 
denes  detection.    On  Its  virtues  it  has  st«  od  the  test 
of  54  years;  no  other  has;  and  is  so  harmless  we  taste 
it  to  be  sure  it  is  properly  made.    Accept  no 
counterfeit  of   similar  name.     The   distin- 
guished Dr.  L.  A.  Sayre  said  to  a  lady  of  the 
haut  ton  (a  patient):  ''As  you  ladies  will  use 
them,  I  recommend  '  Gouraud's  Cream  '  as 
the  least  harmful  of  all  the  Skin  prepara- 
tions."   One  bottle  will  last  six  months,  us- 
ing it  every  day.      Goiiraiuris    Poudre 
Subtile    removes    siiperfliioiis    hair 
without  injury  to   the   skin. 

FERD.  T.  HOPKINS.  Proprietor, 

87  Great  Jones  St.,  New  York. 
For  sale  by  all  Druggists  and  Fancy  Goods 
Dealers  throughout  the  U.  S.,  Canadas,  and 
Europe. 
Also  found  in  N.  Y.  City  at  R.  H.  Macy's, 
Wanamaker's,  and  other  Fancy  Goods  Dealers.  B^°  Beware  of  Base  Imitations. 
$1,000  Reward  for  arrest  and  proof  of  any  one  selling  the  same. 


Mary  J.  Holmes, 
Mrs.  Emma  D.  E.  N.  Southworth, 

Harriet  Beecher  Stowe. 

\  >  The  above  au:l^!i(>rai  ponstitiite  a  brilliant  trio 
of  American  writeri^  <  of  high-class  fiction 
;  jw:aGse  yprks  have  entertained  and  edified 
•thousands  of  readers  in  the  past,  and  are  as 
popular  to-day  as  ever. 


Mrs.  Mary  J.  Holmes' 
Works  contained  in 
The  Seaside  Library: 


r]944  The  English  Orphans. 

'  1945  The  Homestead  on  the  Hillside. 

1946  Tempest  and  Sunshine. 

1998  Meadow  Brook. 

2192  'Lena  Rivers. 

2218  Dora  Deane. 

2219  Old  Hagar's  Secret. 


Harriet  Beecher  Stowe's  Works  contained  in 

The  Seaside  Library; 

2151  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN.      I       1569  THE  MINISTER'S  WOOING. 


Mrs.  Emma  D.  E.  N. 
Southworth*s  Works 
contained  in  Seaside 
Library: 


269  The  Lost  Heiress. 

287  Vivia;  or,  The  Secret  of  Power. 

288  The  Curse  of  Clifton. 

293  The  Deserted  Wife. 

294  The  Discarded  Daughter. 
2003  Ishrnael;  or,  In  the  Depths. 

2003  Self-Raised:  or,  From  the  Depths. 


The  above  books  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  paid,  on  receipt  of 
25  cents  per  copy,  or  five  copies  for  $1.00.    Address 

GEORGE  MUNRO'S  SONS,  Publishkr8, 

17  to  27  Vande water  Street,  New  York. 


liLfiJlfiJUilAJUliUJUlili^^ 


BABIOLE,  THE  PRETTY  MILLINER. 


CHAPTER  1. 


It  is  on  a  winter's  afternoon,  just  as  tlie  daylight  begins  to  wane, 
that  one  sliould  see  tne  Faiiboug  Montniartre,  one  gf  tbe  l»josX>cu- 
rious  and  interesting  localities  of  Parss-^at;  iix)tie?n  Paris,;  be  it 
understood;  for  ibis  "faubourg,  wbicli  is  ndvv  I'hc  center  of  tbe  liiain 
boulevards,  bad  no  existence  a  centnry,  ago,  .and  urGM^oJojjJsts^ 
would  waste  their  time  if  they  atte'npte4  t<,i  d'S'iover  fiif^rov'^iae^ot ' 
the  ancient  dwellings  that  abound  in  and  around ^he  Marais. 

It  is  tbe  chosen  babitalion  of  a  population  that  lives  from  hand  to 
mouth,  that  is  ever  on  the  go,  that  retires  at  the  most  preposterous 
hours,  and  that  eats  when  it  can,  for  the  restaurants  and  eating- 
houses  always  remam  open  until  two  o'clocli  in  the  morning. 

At  night,  it  undergoes  an  entire  change  of  aspect,  becoming  noisy 
and  crowded,  just  as  the  neighboring  streets  are  beginning  to  grow 
silent  and  deserted,  and  after  midnight  it  becomes  the  rendezvous 
of  disreputable  characters  of  both  sexes. 

Bat  at  the  hour  for  lighting  the  street  lamps,  the  faubourg  is 
still  only  a  crowded  and  busy  thoroughfare,  a  street  which  leads  to 
the  Banli,  and  through  which  banl^ers'  clerks  and  collectors  eagerly 
hasten,  without  feeling  the  slightest  anxiety  for  the  safety  of  their 
bags  of  gold  and  their  pocket-books— a  street  thronged  with  f acres 
and  drays;  in  short,  a  hard-working,  honest  and  respectable  fan- 
bourg. 

Such  was  its  aspect  about  five  o'clock  one  afternoon,  late  in  the 
month  of  February,  when  two  young  men,  who  had  been  walking 
along  side  by  side,  found  themselves  obliged  to  piiuse  at  the  corner 
of  the  Rue  Lafayette  and  wait  tor  a  line  of  vehicles  to  pass. 

They  were  both  well  dressed,  and  of  about  the  same  height,  but 
these  were  the  only  points  of  resemblance  between  them. 

One  was  dark,  the  other  was  fair;  one  had  broad  shoulders,  and 
was  inclined  to  stoutness;  the  other  was  slender  and  elegantly 
formed;  one  wore  a  heavy  and  rather  unkempt  beard,  the  other  only 
a  long,  silky  and  carefully  trimmed  mustache— a  perfect  love  of  a 
mustache,  indeed. 

In  short,  one  was  unattractive,  even  ordinary,  in  appearance;  the 
other,  was  a  distinguished^looking  and  remarkably  handsome  young 
man. 

They  seemed,  moreover,  to  be  of  about  the  same  age.    At  least, 


966794 


6  BABTOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLINER. 

there  could  not  have  been  a  difterence  of  more  than  two  year's  in 
their  ages. 

"  My  dear  Louis,"  remarked  the  fair-haired  young  man,  when 
they  had  finally  succeeded  in  crossing  the  street,  **  1  am  very  much 
afraid  that  1  shall  not  arrive  in  time.  The  office  will  be  closed,  and 
Monsieur  Vernelle  may  refuse  to  see  me.  1  have  a  great  mind  to 
del er  my  call  until  to-morrow." 

**  You  are  from  the  country,  my  dear  Andre,"  replied  his  compan- 
ion, **  consequently  it  is  not  strange  that  you  should  be  ignorant  of 
the  customs  that  prevail  among  financiers.  From  three  o'clock  to 
five,  Monsieur  Vernelle  is  engaged  in  receiving  brokers  and  their 
clerks,  in  looking  over  the  transactions  of  the  day,  and  affixing  his 
signature  to  his  correspondence.  By  five  o'clock  these  tasks  are 
completed,  consequently  that  is  the  most  favorable  time  to  approach 
him — especially  when  the  market  closes  with  an  upward  tendency, 
as  is  the  case* to-day.  You  will  find  him  in  a  good  humor,  and 
your  letter  of  introduction  will  be  favorably  received,  1  feel  sure." 

'Vbhope  so,- indeed,  far  \i  1  should  be  obliged  to  return  as  1  came, 

without  any, podili'on- or  any  prospect  of  one,  1  don't  know  what 

.will  become  of  my  mother  and  ire.     My  poor  father  left  us  nothing 

' 'jq  ifve  u^pbn.  ^  The  CQllapse  of  the  Union  Generale  reduced  iiiin  to 

'  poverty,'  and -he  d?*ed  of  gv.ief  and  chagrin,  as  you  know." 

**  Tlie  blow  is  the  more  severe  from  the  fact  that  he  was  very 
wealthy,  and  that  you  ought  to  be  the  possessor  of  a  handsome  fort- 
une to-day.  As  for  me,  my  parents  were  always  poor,  and  I  knew 
that  1  should  be  obliged  to  look  out  foi  myself  as  soon  as  1  left 
school." 

**  But  see  where  you  are  now.  You  are  the  chief  clerk  in  a 
prominent  mercantile  house  on  the  Kue  Sentier,  and  in  a  fair  way 
1o  speedily  become  a  member  of  the  firm,  while  I  still  have  my  ap- 
prenticeship to  serve,  and  am  by  no  means  sure  that  I  am  good  for 
anj^thing." 

**  Bah  I  if  one  is  endowed  with  a  fair  amount  of  intelligence,  one 
can  succeed  in  anything;  besides,  with  a  face  like  yours,  one  has  a 
fair  chance  of  winning  the  affections  of  his  employer's  daughter, 
and  marrying  her  some  day  or  other.  There  is  no  such  fialtering 
prospect  tor  me,  as  1  look  more  like  a  well-to-do  mechanic  than 
anything  else;  and  yet,  I  don't  complain  of  my  fate.  Monsieur 
Vernelle  is  a  kind  hearted  man.  He  will  not  refuse  to  give  you  a 
foothold,  and  wlien  you  once  get  a  place  in  his  banking-house,  the 
rest  depends  solely  upon  yourself.  By  the  way,  he  has  a  marriage- 
able daughter." 

**  1  am  not  so  aspiring.  On  the  contrary,  1  shall  be  quite  content 
with  a  clerkship.  Heaven  grant  that  he*  gives  me  a  position,  and 
that  I  am  capable  of  fillmg  it." 

'*  You  do  wrong  to  doubt  your  ability.  Assurance  is  one  of  the 
chief  requisites  of  success  in  life  after  all.  Say  what  you  have  to 
say  boldly,  and  don't  dwell  too  much  on  your  poverty.  One  lends 
only  to  the  rich,  says  the  proverb,  and  poverty  is  never  a  very  good 
recommendation." 

**  But  here  we  are  at  the  Rue  Berg^re,  where  Vernelle  lives.  Do 
you  see  that  iron  gateway  down  there?  1  will  go  with  you  as  far  as 
the  door,  and  then  wait  tor  you  at  the  cafe  on  the  corner  of  the  Rue 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLIN^ER.  7 

Drouot  and  the  Rue  Lafayette.  We  will  dine  together,  and  it  you 
are  successful  we  will  celebrate  the  event  with  a  modest  little  feast 
ot  oysters  and  wine." 

*'  Nothing  would  please  me  better;  but  1  am  very  much  afraid 
that  1  shall  have  no  good  report  to  make." 

The  conversation  ceased.  Andre  was  preparing  for  the  interview 
which  would  decide  his  destin3%  and  Louis  was  silent,  for  fear  ot 
disturbing  his  fiiend's  reflection. 

Friends,  indeed,  they  were,  of  long  standing,  having  pursued 
their  studies  at  the  same  college,  though  they  had  lost  sight  of  each 
other  for  several  years. 

Though  Louis  Marbeuf  and  Andre  Subligny  had  been  fellow  stu- 
dents, they  did  not  at  that  time  seem  destined  to  lead  the  same  life,. 
inr  Marbeut's  father  was  a  hardware  dealer  who  had  strained 
every  nerve  to  send  his  boy  to  college,  and  Subligny  was  the  son  of 
a  wealthy  ship-owner,  who  had  retired  from  business  with  a  hand- 
some fortune. 

Marbeuf,  an  orphan  at  the  age  oi  eijihteen,  had  begun  life  as  a 
petty  clerk;  while  Subligny  had  become  one  of  the  leaders  of  the 
jennesse  doree  ot  his  native  town,  dividing  his  time  between  Havre 
and  Paris,  and  squandering  right  and  left  the  money  with  whicU 
his  father  kept  him  lavishly  supplied. 

He  had  learned  to  tie  a  cravat  to  perfection,  to  lead  the  german, 
and  to  ride,  but  he  had  entirely  forgotten  how  to  work. 

The  complete  and  irreparable  ruin  of  his  father  had  fallen  like  a 
thunderbolt  upon  this  pleasant  and  indolent  existence.  The  former 
ship-owner,  in  order  to  pay  his  debts,  had  sold  his  estates,  his  villa  at 
Ingouville,  and  even  his  wife's  jewels,  and  then  retired  with  her  to 
a  village  where  Andre  had  led  a  life  of  privation  until  his  mother, 
who  had,  in  the  meantime,  become  a  widow,  decided  to  send  him 
to  Paris  with  a  letter  to  M.  Vernelle,  in  which  she  reminded  this 
millionaire  of  a  service  rendered  him  in  former  years  by  her  hus- 
band, and  asked  for  a  position  for  her  son. 

Andre  began  his  journey  with  three  hundred  francs,  which  the 
poor  woman  had  gathered  together  with  great  difficulty,  and  in 
order  to  make  the  meager  amount  last  as  long  as  possible,  he  had 
accepted  the  hospitality  of  his  old  schoolmate,  who,  on  hearing 
of  his  misfortunes  and  his  plans,  had  oftered  to  share  with  him  the 
little  fourth  story  apartment  which  he  occupied  on  the  Rue  Lamartine. 
Andre  had  arrived  in  the  city  that  morning  b}''  the  early  train, 
and  had  slept  until  noon.  Marbeuf  hastened  back  to  his  friend  aa 
soon  as  he  could  leave  the  ofldce,  and  alter  accompanying  him  to  M. 
Vernelle's  door,  as  had  been  agreed  upon,  retraced  his  steps.  Andre, 
a  little  cheered  by  his  friend's  encouragement,  crossed  the  court- 
yard, and  after  inquiring  it  the  banker  was  visible,  was  ushered  into 
an  imposing  reception-room,  where  he  handed  his  card  to  a  footman 
in  quiet  brown  livery,  who  guarded  the  door  ot  the  private  office, 
and  who  promptly  delivered  it  to  his  master. 

Several  minutes  passed  that  seemed  interminable  to  Andr6,  who 
feared  that  the  banker  had  entirely  forgotten  the  name  ot  Subligny, 
which  graiitude  should  have  engraved  upon  his  memory,  and  wht  n 
the  footman  reappeared  to  announce  that  M.  Vernelle  would  seQ 
him,  he  turned  pale  with  joy  and  emotiou. 


8  BABIOLE,    THK    PRETTY    MTLLT:NrER. 

He  entered  with  a  wildl}^  throbbmg  heart,  and  found  o?mself  in 
the  presence  of  a  man  who  was  wiiling  at  a  desk,  lo;ded  with 
papers,  and  who  motioned  him  to  be  sealed  without  pausing  in  his 
worl^. 

fie  obeyed,  bowing  respectfully,  and  waited,  letter  in  hand,  until 
his  father's  old  friend  should  find  time  to  address  him. 

M.  Vernelle  was  still  in  the  prime  ot  life,  though  his  hair  was 
gray,  and  his  face  weary  and  care-worn.  It  makes  one  prematurely 
old  to  conduct  a  large  banking-bouse  and  extensive  financial  opera- 
tions. 

This  money-king  wore  a  cold  and  severe  air,  assumed,  perhaps,  to 
intimidate  petitioners,  and  Andre,  who  had  scarcely  been,  honored 
with  a  glance,  felt  more  and  more  uncomfortable. 

His  card  was  lyina:  upon  the  tabic,  and  he  asked  himselr  why  M. 
Vernelle,  who  must  have  read  the  name,  did  not  condescen^i  to  even 
look  at  him.  Did  he  take  him  for  a  speculator  who  had  come  to 
propose  some  new  scheme,  or  did  he  confound  his  name  with  that 
of  some  tradesman?  Had  he  been  admitted  by  mistake,  and  would 
he  be  dismissed  at  the  first  intimation  of  his  pretensions? 

The  great  financier  continued  to  write  steadily  on,  occasionally 
pausing  to  wait  for  some  word  which  did  not  promptly  present  it- 
self, but  without  lifting  his  eyes  from  the  paper. 

The  tick-tack  of  the  pendulum  marked  the  flight  of  the  seconds  in 
the  midst  of  this  glacial  silence.  Andre's  heart  sunk  lower  and 
lower,  and  he  felt  strongly  tempted  to  turn  and  flee. 

A  dooi  suddenly  opened  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  and  a  gen- 
tleman entered  with  several  packages  of  bank  notes  in  his  hand. 

•'  Here  are  the  eight  hundred  thousand  francs  to  square  Monsieur 
Bertand's  account,"  he  said,  in  the  monotonous  voice  of  a  well- 
trained  cashier. 

*'  Very  well.  Lay  the  money  down,  Bertand  will  not  be  here 
until  six  o'clock,"  replied  M.  Vernelle,  without  pausing  in  his 
writing. 

The  cashier  placed  the  valuable  package  on  the  desk,  within  An- 
dre's reach,  and  quietl}'^  withdrew. 

M.  Vernelle  appended  liis  signature  to  the  letter  he  was  writing, 
he  then  reread  it,  folded  it,  inclosed  it  in  an  envelope,  and  addressed 
it,  then  glancing  up  at  Andre, 

'*  What  can  1  do  for  you,  sir?"  he  asked,  coldly. 

"1  am  the  son  of  Mr.  Charles  Subligny,  of  Havre,"  stammered 
,  the  young  man. 
•     **  1  know  it.     What  do  you  desire  of  me?" 

Andre  presented  his  mother's  letter.  As  he  handed  it  to  the 
banker,  his  fingers  grazed  the  package  of  banknotes— a  cruel  con- 
trast—for his  present  and  prospective  fortune  consisted  of  barely 
two  hundred  francs. 

M.  Vernelle  took  the  letter,  opened  it,  and  began  its  perusal  with- 
out a  word. 

Andre  endeavored  to  read  in  the  banker's  face  the  impression  pro- 
duced by  this  petition,  composed  with  such  infinite  care  and  pains 
by  an  anxious  mother.  He  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  that  the  fur- 
ther M.  Vernelle  progressed  with  his  reading,  the  more  his  stern 
Jtijiitures  relaxed,  and  when  he  reached  the  concluding  lines,  Andre, 


BABtOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLI^TEH.  9 

to  his  very  great  siii  prise,  fancied  he  could  detect  a  suspicious  moist- 
ure in  his  eyes. 

'*  So  yoii^  father  met  all  his  obligations?"  he  said. 

**  All,  sir.  He  died  owing  no  man  a  penny,  and  possessing  none." 

**  He  preferred!  honor  to  wealth.  That  is  something  unusual  in 
these  days." 

"  Could  you  doubt  that  this  would  be  his  preference— you,  who 
knew  him  in  years  gone  by?"  asked  Andre. 

"  Yes,  1  knew  him,  and  1  knew  that  he  had  paid  all  his  creditors: 
but  1  had  heard  none  of  the  particulars.  The  terrible  disaster  of 
last  year  created  a  frightful  panic  in  the  business  world.  1  myself 
felt  the  effects  of  it,  and  the  shock  was  so  severe  that  1  had  no  op- 
portunity to  bestow  much  attention  on  such  of  my  acquaintances  as 
it  ruined.  1,  consequently,  was  not  aware  that  your  father  and  his 
family  had  been  reduced  to  poverty  through  an  excess  of  delicacy  on 
his  part— for  it  certainty  was  an  excciss  c>f  delicacy — no  one  would 
have  blamed  him  for  making  some  provision  for  his  wife  and  child. 
1  will  add,  that  if  he  had  applied  to  me,  1  should  certainly  have 
assisted  him." 

**  He  thought  of  doing  so,  sir,  but  dared  not." 

'•  He  did  very  wrong.  Years  ago  1  found  myself  greatly  embar- 
rassed financially.  Had  I  been  as  timid  as  he  was,  1  should  probab- 
ly have  gone  under;  but  1  explelned  my  situation  to  some  friends, 
and  not  one  ot  them  refused  to  iissist  me.  lour  father  was  one  of 
the  most  generous  of  all,  and  it  was  due  chiefly  to  his  aid  that  1 
passed  safely  through  the  crisis,  and  re-established  my  business, 
which  has  prospered  ever  since.  Your  father  loaned  me  then  a  sum  of 
money  which  he  would  have  done  well  to  have  lelt  in  my  business. 
But  it  is  useless  now  to  deplore  what  has  passed.  Tell  me  how  you 
have  lived  since?" 

"  My  mother  relinquished  her  entire  private  fortune,  but  she  has 
an  inalienable  income  of  three  thousand  francs  which  was  bequeath- 
ed to  her  by  a  distant  relative.  This  is  all  we  have  had  to  live  upon." 

*'  Your  mother,  your  father,  and  you?"  exclaimed  the  banker, 
with  a  gesture  of  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  sir:  we  left  Havre,  and  took  up  our  abode  in  the  country. 
My  poor  father  died  there  six  months  ago.  He  never  rallied  from 
the  blow  he  had  received." 

••  And  your  mother  has  biavely  endured  her  unhappy  lot!  1  thank 
her  for  writing  and  recommending  you  to  me.  Hhe  ought  to  have 
done  this  before.     When  did  you  arrive  in  Paris?" 

*'  This  morning,  sir;  and  I  should  lia^e  called  upon  you  immedi- 
ately, had  not  a  friend,  who  kindly  invited  me  to  share  his  room, 
told  me  that  until  live  o'clock  you  w^ould  receive  only  persons  who 
,  wished  to  see  you  on  business  matters." 

"  Y'our  friend  was  quite  right.     How  old  are  you?" 

"  1  was  tw^enty-five  last  month." 

*•  You  were  educated  here  in  Paris,  I  believe?" 

**  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  what  have  you  been  doing  since?  what  profession  did  you 
choose?" 

Andre's  heart  tailed  him.  M.  Vernelle  had  placed  his  finger  ou 
the  weak  spot  of  this  prepossssing  young  man's  armor. 


10  BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLINER. 

**  None,  ]  suppose,"  contiQiied  the  banker. 

"1  was  anxious  to  enter  the  diplomatic  service,"  replied  the 
young  man,  with  very  evident  embarrassment.  "  There  seemed  to 
be  nothing  to  prevent  me  from  doing  so.  My  father  was  still  rich, 
so  1  could  do  what  I  liked,  and  afterward  time  slipped  by  without 
my  taking  any  decisive  step." 

"  Then  you  prol)ably  have  little  or  no  taste  for  business?" 

'*  1  did  not  think  so  at  that  time.  My  father  retired  from  business 
several  years  before  1  left  collej2:e,  so  1  could  not  take  his  place,  and — " 

*'  Then  you  have  done  nothing  whatever  up  to  the  present  time?" 

This  time  Andre  felt  that  there  was,  indeed,  no  hope  for  him,  for 
all  M.  Vernelle's  questions  seemed  intended  to  convince  him  of  his 
unfitness  to  hold  any  position  in  a  large  banking-house. 

But  the  idea  of  parrying  this  thiust  with  a  falsehood  never  once 
occurred  to  him. 

••  That  is  true,  sir,"  he  replied,  after  a  short  silence.  **  1  frankly 
admit  that  1  have  lived  in  absolute  idleness.  My  father  allowed  me 
the  greatest  possible  freedom.  I  abused  it,  and  indulged  freely  in 
the  extravagant  pleasures  that  ruin  young  men;  but  1  now  bitterly 
regret  the  squandermg  of  money  which  would  so  greatly  ameliorate 
my  mother's  unfortunate  condition.  But,"  arided  Andre,  straight- 
ening himself  up  proudly,  *'  1  am  positive  that  1  have  never  commit- 
ted a  mean  or  dishonorable  act.  L  have  sinned  through  thoughtless- 
ness and  ignorance.  1  supposed  myself  destined  to  be  the  possessor 
of  a  large  fortune.  This  turned  my  head  a  little,  but  my  heart  is 
not  spoiled." 

"  1  believe  you,"  responded  M.  Yernelle.  "Good  blood  will 
show  itself,  and  you  belong  to  a  family  which  has  never  been  want- 
ing in  honor.  1  can  readily  excuse  your  faults,  and  1  think  all  the 
better  of  you  tor  not  having  concealed  them  from  me.  Hypocrisy 
is  the  worst  of  all  vices,  in  my  opinion.  You  have  been  a  spoiled 
child.  You  muBt  now  make  a  man  of  yourself,  and  1  am  ready  to 
aid  you  in  your  at^tempt." 

**0h,  sir!" 

*'  Do  not  thank  me.  1  am  only  repaying  a  debt  of  gratitude— an 
old  obligation.  Besid  s,  I  have  taken  a  liking  to  you,  so  I  deserve 
no  credit  for  doing  something  tor  you.  1  have  no  intention  of  em- 
ploying you  in  my  offices.  You  have  had  none  of  the  trainiuii  which 
is  indispensable  to  a  good  cleik,  nor  would  such  a  position  suit  you. 
1  have  a  better  one  to  offer  yon.  Will  you  be  my  private  secretary?" 

•' I!"  exclaimed  An  lire. 

"  Yes,  you,"  replied  M.  Vernelle,  almost  affectionately,  *'ana  1 
am  sure  you  will  till  this  confidential  position  to  my  entire  satisfac- 
tion. I  have  long  been  looking  for  an  intelligent,  well-l)orn  and 
well-bred  young  man,  whom  1  could  initiate  into  all  lay  affairs.  Any 
well-trained  clerk  can  attend  to  Uiy  business  coi respondence ;  but  1 
need  a  man  like  yourself  for  my  piivate  correspondence.  In  per- 
forming these  functions,  you  will  soon  acquire  the  knowledge  and 
experience  you  now  lacii.  You  will  learn  how  to  direct  gigaatic 
operations,  and  1  feel  sure  that  your  course  will  be  onward  and  up- 
ward. 1  began  in  a  much  more  humble  position,  and  1  am  now  the 
bead  of  the  house  which  you  are  about  to  entei." 

Andre,  deeply  touched,  was  about  to  burst  forth  into  vehement 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLIKER,  11 

protestations  ot  pjratitude,  when  a  valet  entered  on  tiptoe,  and  said  a 
few  words  to  M.  Vernelle  in  a  low  tone. 

'*  Very  well,  1  am  coming,"  his  master  replied. 

Andre  rose  lo  go,  but  the  banker  motioned  him  to  reseat  himself, 
remarking: 

**  Remain,  my  young  friend.  I  must  explain  to  you  more  fully 
what  your  duties  will  be.  My  daughter  wishes  to  see  me,  so  1  must 
lenve  you  for  a  moment,  but  1  should  like  you  to  wait  for  me." 

Andre  bowed,  and  resumed  his  seat  near  the  table,  while  M.  Ver- 
nelle disappeared  through  the  door  at  the  further  end  of  the  room. 

He  was  overcome  with  joy,  this  brave  Andre,  and  he  certainly  had 
cause  to  be.  He  had  entered  the  great  financier's  office,  nervous 
and  tremblin.s:,  and  now  he  was  the  possessor  of  a  situation  he  had 
not  even  dared  to  dream  of.  To  be  M.  Vernelle's  private  secretary 
was  opulence— heaven  itself. 

*•  My  mother's  life  will  be  henceforth  one  of  ease,"  he  thought, 
**  and  it  is  to  me  that  she  will  owe  it.  When  1  think  how  she  hesi- 
tated to  apply  to  this  kind-hearted  man  because  she  feared  she  would 
only  expoj;e  me  to  useless  humiliation!  But  he  has  a  heart  of  gold, 
this  apparently  cold  and  haughty  banker.  Pie  has  treated  me  as  it  1 
were  his  son.  Ah,  my  entire  lite  will  be  too  short  to  repay  him  for 
his  kindnesa,  no  matter  how  great  my  zeal  and  devotion.  It  will 
not  be  enough  to  serve  him  faithfully.  1  should  like  to  be  rich  some 
day,  so  1  might  prove  my  gratitude  by  doing  for  him  what  my  fa- 
ther did  years  ago.  But  this  is  a  wish  that  will  never  be  realized," 
he  said  to  himself.  *'  Monsieur  Vernelle  is  the  possessor  of  millions, 
and  1  have  absolutely  nothinff.  He  will  retire  from  business  before 
1  have  made  even  a  quarter  of  the  amount  that  is  lying  here  on  the 
table  before  me — eight  hundred  thousand  francs!" 

As  he  spoke,  he  glanced  at  the  pile  of  bank-notes  before  him — 
glanced  at  it,  not  covetously,  but  with  genuine  curiosity. 

Andre  had  squandered  a  good  deal  of  money,  but  he  had  never 
before  seen  so  large  an  amount  together  or  in  so  small  a  compass, 
tor  the  notes  were  all  new,  and  had  also  been  subjected  to  the  action 
of  a  press. 

*'  Eight  hundred  thousand  francs!"  he  repeated,  **  a  handsome 
fortune,  and  yet  how  small  a  space  it  occupies!" 

Almost  unconsciously,  he  picked  up  one  of  the  eight  packages  to 
see  what  process  had  been  emploj'^ed  to  reduce  the  bank-notes  to  the 
amount  of  one  hundred  thousand  francs,  to  the  dimensions  ot  a 
folded  linen  cambric  handkerchief. 

On  examining  it,  he  perceived  that  the  package  was  made  up  of 
ten  s  nailer  packages  ot  ten  thousand  francs  each,  carefully  pinned, 
and  then  tied  together  with  a  small  bit  of  silken  cord.  The  package 
was  still  in  his  hand,  and  he  was  engaged  in  weighing  it,  when  the 
door  by  which  M.  Vernelle  had  lett  the  room  suddenl}^  opened. 

There  are  decisive  moments  when  a  man's  honor  and  lite  depend 
upon  the  quickness  of  a  movement. 

Andre  had  only  to  extend  his  hand  to  replace  the  package  on  the 
pile  from  which  he  had  just  taken  it;  but  to  do  this,  he  would  have 
been  obliged  to  make  a  movement  which  would  hardly  have  escaped 
M.  Vernelle's  sharp  eyes. 

XUe  doorway  in  which  the  banker  had  just  appeared  was  directly 


12  BABIOLE,    THE    rRETTY     MILLINER. 

opposite  Ihe  desk  in  front  of  which  the  joudc;  man  was  sitting,  and 
the  first  glance  of  the  employer  must  inevitably  fall  upon  his  future 
secretary. 

What  would  he  think  of  the  ill-timed  curiosity  to  which  the  youn^ 
man  had  yielded  in  picking  up,  for  close  examination,  a  portion  of 
this  weallh  which  did  not  belong  to  him? 

Andre,  caught  in  the  imprudent  act,  lost  his  head,  and  in  his  con- 
fusion and  bewilderment,  hastily  concealed  the  package  of  notes  in 
his  trousers  pocket,  which  was  hidden  from  view  by  the  desk. 

The  act  was  as  involuntary  as  the  instinctive  recoil  when  one  has 
missed  a  thrust,  and  sees  one's  adversary's  sword  only  a  couple  of 
inches  from  one's  naked  breast. 

After  this  impulsive  act,  whose  consequences  he  had  not  had  time 
to  calculate,  Andre  hastily  rose. 

He  was  very  pale,  and  his  limbs  trembled  under  him,  but  M. 
Vernelle  had  perceived  nothing;  besides,  Andre's  contusion  might 
reasonably  be  imputed  to  the  unexpected  entrance  of  the  young  girl  i 
the  banker  brought  with  him. 

"  Clemence  insists  upon  seeing  you,"  said  M.  Vernelle,  smiling,  I 
*'  and  1  can  refuse  her  nothing.  She  is  absolute  mistress  here;  more- 
over, as  you  are  destined  to  meet  frequently  since  you  now  belong  to 
the  establishment,  1  thought  it  would  be  well  for  you  to  make  each 
other's  acquaintance  at  once." 

Andre  bowed  awkwardly.     He  scarcely  dared  to  lift  his  eyes,  and  , 
yet  he  had  perceived  that  his  employer's  daughter  w^as  marvelously 
lovely. 

She  was  a  blonde,  with  delicate  features,  and  large  blue  eyes  of 
wonrterful  sweetness  of  compression;  and,  like  Andre,  she  was  tall 
and  slender,  without  being  thin. 

The  pair  might  readily  have  been  mistaken  for  brother  and  sister; 
but  she  did  not  appear  to  be  more  than  nineteen,  at  the  most. 

**  Oh!  how  strongly  you  resemble  your  father,  sirl"  she  exclaimed, 
clapping  her  hands. 

*'  What,  mademoiselle,  did  you  know  him?"  said  Andre,  greatly 
astonished. 

**  He  always  called  to  see  us  when  he  came  to  Paris,  and  when  1 
was  a  child,  lie  used  to  give  me  toys  without  number.  Why  did  he 
never  bring  you  to  see  us?"  i 

Andre  knew  not  what  to  reply.  He  managed,  however,  to  stam- 
mer out  some  excuse,  and  to  express  regrets  which  were  certainly 
sincere,  tor  he  thought  her  charming,  and  said  to  himself  that  he 
perhaps  would  not  have  been  guilty  of  so  many  tollies  had  he  met 
her  before. 

"  You  have  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  him,"  she  continued,  "  and- 
without  knowing  you,  I  have  sympathized  with  you  in  yoiir  bereave- 
ment, and  1  thank  you  for  having  thought  of  us." 

Andre,  surprised  at  this  warm  reception,  looked  timidly  at  M. , 
Vernelle,  who  was  smiling  on  his  daughter. 

It  was  very  evident  that  he  adored"  her,  and  that  in  spite  of  his 
greed  for  gold,  he  would  neglect  his  business  to  gratify  a  desire  of 
this  young  girl  who  had  no  idea  either  of  the  value  of  money,  or« 
what  sacrifices  one  must  make  in  order  to  obtain  it.  j 

She  was  his  joy,  his  coasolation,  his  hope.    It  was  evident,  tooj 


t,  tooJ 

(I 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLIKER.  13 

that  he  wcAild  never  thwart  the  inclinations  of  his  dear  Clemenoe, 
and  that  he  would  unhesitatingly  accept  the  man  of  her  choice. 

What  a  brilliant  prospect  tor  xVndre,  to  whom  she  seemed  to  have 
taken  a  strong  liking,  and  whose  time  was  to  be  spent  near  her! 

But  the  poor  youth  w^as  in  no  condition  to  enjoy  the  unalloyed 
satisfaction  which  such  an  avalanche  of  unexpected  good  fortune 
should  have  caused. 

He  could  think  only  of  the  senseless  act  which  he  had  allowed 
himself  to  commit,  and  he  was  anxiously  asking  himself  what  he 
could  do  to  avert  the  consequences  of  it. 

The  accursed  package  was  in  his  pocket,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  the  light,  silky  papers  weighed  a  hundred  pounds. 
.  To  draw  out  the  notes,  throwthem  on  the  table,  and  falling  on  his 
knees  before  M.  Vernelle,  implore  his  forgiveness  for  his  momentary 
lolly,  would  have  been  the  heroic  course,  and  he  perhaps  would 
have  had  courage  to  adopt  it  had  he  been  alone  with  the 'banker. 
But  before  Mile.  Veinelle  he  would  have  died  of  shame. 
On  the  other  hand,  to  take  the  money  away  with  him  would  be 
stealing.     This  thought  horrified  him. 
A  plan  occurred  to  him  that  served  to  calm  his  anxiety  a  litile. 
*'  He  broueht  his  daughter  here,"  thought  poor  Andre,  "  and  he 
"will  probabl}^  accompany  her  back  to  her  own  apartments  when  she 
is  ready  to  go.     If  1  am  left  alone  again,  if  only  for  an  instant,  1 
can  put  the  money  back  where  1  took  it  from.     It  will  be  enough  if 
he  merely  turns  his  back  on  me  to  escort  her  to  the  dooi.     If  ihis 
should  happen,  1  am  saved,  and  this  is  sure  to  happen." 

**  You  do  not  answer  me,"  continued  Clemence  In  a  musical  voice 
that  moved  Andre  to  the  depths  of  his  inmost  heart.  "  Speak, 
father,  since  Monsieur  Subligny  seems  to  be  afraid  of  me. 

**  It  is  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  1  ever  intimidated  any  one," 
she  added,  laughing.  "  1  did  not  know  that  I  was  so  aweinspir- 
iuir. ' ' 

M.  Vernelle  stepped  up  to  Andre  and  took  his  hand— the  very 
hand  that  had  taken  the  hundred  thousand  francs,  and  said: 

*'  My  dear  boy,  you  see  that  every  one  here  wishes  you  to  be  my 
secretary,  so  accept  the  position  1  offer  >ou.  It  is  not  a  very  brill- 
iant one,  I  adniit,  nor  is  it  a  sinecure,  by  any  means.  You  will 
have  ph'nty  to  do;  though  at  first  you  will  write  only  from  my  dic- 
tation; but  by  and-by,  when  you  have  become  acquainted  with  my 
correspondents,  and  my  business,  1  shall  intrust  all  my  private  cor- 
respondence entirely  to  you." 

*'  The  idea  of  declining  your  kind  offer  never  occurred  to  me  for 
an  instant,"  replied  Andre,  wi;h  deep  emotion,  **  and  1  regret  that 
j^ou  require  no  more  of  one  who  would  gladly  make  any  sacrifice  to 
serve  you." 

**  That  opportunity  may  offer  itself  at  some  future  da}^"  said  the 
banker,  with  a  pleasant  smile.  *'  JS^ow  let  us  come  to  an  understand- 
ing.    Will  you  be  ready  to  enter  upon  jour  duties  to-morrow?" 

'*  Quite  ready,"  murmured  poor  Andre,  shuddering  as  he  thought, 
*'  1  will  kill  myself  before  to  morrow  if  1  do  not  find  an  opportunity 
to  restore  the  riioney  I  have  taken." 

**  Then  you  will  find  me  at  my  office  to-morrow  morning  at  nine 
o'clock.      I  will  install  you  at  a  detk  here,  and  I  will  also  introduce 


14  BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLINER. 

you  to  my  cashier  and  to  my  head  book-keeper.  They  both  know 
vdiat  an  enviable  reputation  tor  integrity  your  father  left  behind 
him,  and  yon  will  find  them  very  kindly  disposed  toward  you." 

**  How  grateful — " 

**  Wait— 1  have  not  yet  enumerated  all  your  duties.  1  breakfast 
al  twelve  o'clock,  and  you  will  breakfast  with  me." 

**  A.nd  with  me,  if  you  please,"  said  the  young  lady,  aichly. 

"  jNot  every  day,  mademoiselle,"  said  the  father,  with  pretended 
sternness.  "  We  shall  often  have  to  discuss  business  matters,  Mon- 
sieur Subligny  and  1,  and  in  that  case  you  would  be  de  trop,'* 

"  I  confess  that  business  matters  possess  very  little  interest  for 
me. "  . 

"  That  is  very  fortunate,  as  at  such  times  you  are  to  remain  in 
your  own  apartments,"  replied  her  father,  laughing. 

Then,  turning  to  Andre  he  said: 

**  At  five  o'clock  you  will  be  free,  at  least,  unless  you  feel  in- 
clined to  devote  your  evening  to  us,  in  which  case  you  will  dine 
with  us." 

*'  And  1  always  honor  the  dinner-table  with  my  presence,"  cried 
Clemence. 

Had  Andre's  mind  been  in  its  normal  condition  he  would  have 
thanked  his  benefactor  and  Mile.  Vernelie  in  a  few  simple  but  well 
chosen  words,  but  he  was  half  demented,  for  he  saw  that  the  mo- 
ment for  his  departure  was  fast  approaching,  and  the  young  lady, 
whose  absence  would  have  enabled  him  to  get  rid  of  those  terrible 
bank-notes,  seemed  determined  to  remain  until  the  conclusion  of  his 
visit. 

**  There  is  still  one  point  which  we  have  not  touched  upon,"  re- ' 
sumed  the  banker.     "  It  is  the  salary  you  are  to  receive." 

'*  1  shall  be  perfectly  satisfied  with  whatever  you  are  willing  to 
give  me,"  said  Andre,  eagerly. 

*'  1  do  not  doubt  it;  but  1  prefer  to  be  explicit.  1  shall  pay  you 
five  hundred  francs  a  month  to  begin  with.  You  must  be  able  to 
render  your  mother  some  assistance  from  this  time  forth.  You  will 
write  to  her  this  evening,  will  you  not?" 

'*  It  is  too  late  for  the  mail  now.  1  shall  send  a  telegram,  and  she 
will  be  happy  one  day  sooner." 

**  Ycr}^  well,  my  young  friend.  Y^'ou  are  staying  with  one  of  your 
friends,  1  think  you  told  me  " 

"  Yes;  with  Louis  Marbeuf,  an  old  schoolmate." 

'•  You  must  have  lodgings,  and  suitable  lodgings.  1  will  attend 
to  that.  But  now  good-by  until  to-morrow,  my  dear  Andre.  1  must 
detain  you  no  longer,  for  1  am  expecting  one  of  my  principal  clients 
who  is  coming  for  the  money  you  see  there." 

Andre's  legs  trembled  under  him.  This  was  the  final  blow.  The 
owner  of  the  eight  hundred  thousand  francs  would  come,  count  his 
money,  and  discover  that  one  package  of  bank-not«s  was  missing. 
Andre  felt  that  he  must  go  at  once  in  order  to  avoid  the  scene  that 
would  inevitably  ensue;  for  Andre  alone  could  have  taken  the  money 
—and  that  he  must  go  without  rcgtoring  the  money,  for  the  young 
lady  did  not  move, 

m  opened  Uis  lips  to  oQQlQsg  )x\%  im%  l)\^t  ^  irou  \mA  m^^^ 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLIKER.  15 

to  close  around  his  throat,  and  the  words  would  not  come.  Mile. 
Vernelle  was  looking  at  him,  and  tlie  look  paralyzed  him. 

He  wished  that  the  floor  would  open  to  swallow  him  up  and  bury 
forever  the  proot  of  his  disgrace. 

*'  Au  reioir,  Monsieur  Andre,"  said  the  young  girl,  pleasantly, 
as  the  father  pushed  him  gently  toward  the  door,  alter  pressing  his 
hand  cordially. 

He  opened  it,  this  door  by  which  he  had  entered,  poor  but  proud, 
and  when  he  found  himself  in  the  reception-room,  he  heard  a  voice, 
the  voice  of  conscience,  crying  loudly: 

**  You  are  a  thief!" 

He  staggered  like  a  drunken  man,  so  perceptibly,  in  fact,  that  the 
footman  wno  had  risen  to  escort  him  to  the  outer  door,  inquired  if 
he  was  ill. 

This  miserable  footman  was  still  another  obstacle  in  the  way  of 
reparation,  for  Andre  had  thought  of  throwing  the  package  on  a 
chair  or  table  where  some  member  of  the  household  would  see  it  and 
return  it  to  the  banker. 

**  1  will  drop  it  on  the  stairs,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  left  the  re- 
ception room. 

But  this  plan  likewise  proved  futile,  for  he  had  not  descended 
three  stairs  when  he  heard  footsteps  behind  him.  The  cashier,  who 
had  left  his  office  by  a  door  that  opened  upon  the  same  landing  as 
the  door  of  the  reception-room,  was  now  going  home,  and  out  of 
politeness,  probably,  he  abstained  from  passing  the  visitor  he  hal 
seen  in  his  employer's  cabinet. 

Andre  was  consequently  obliged  to  leave  the  house  with  the  fatal 
package  still  in  his  pocket,  and  with  that  same  terrible  voice  repeat- 
ing in  his  ears : 

•*  A  man  has  offered  you  a  helping  hand  in  your  adversity,  and 
that  man  you  have  robbed — tor  it  is  robbery  even  to  touch  money 
that  does  not  belong  to  j^ou.  And  now,  whether  you  live  or  whether 
you  die,  his  daughter,  who  welcomed  you  as  a  brother,  will  know 
that  you  are  a  scoundrel,  tor  even  if  you  have  courage  to  kill  your- 
self, your  body  will  be  taken  to  the  morgue,  and  the  bank-notes  you 
have  taken  will  be  found  upon  you.  Monsieur  Vernelle  will  recog- 
nize them  as  his  property,  without  a  doubt,  for  the}^  are  alt  new 
notes  fresh  from  the  bank;  and  you  will  be  the  cause  uf  your  moth- 
er's death,  for  she  will  die('f  grief  and  morlitication  on  learning  that 
her  son  was  a  thief." 

At  the  gateway  where  he  had  paused,  the  cashier  stepped  by  him, 
bowing  as  he  passed. 

Andre,  relieved  of  this  dangerous  witness,  would  have  instantly 
retraced  his  steps  had  not  a  gentleman  to  whom  the  cashier  also 
bowed,  entered  the  court-yard;  and  this  gentleman  was  in  all  proba- 
bility the  capitalist  who  had  come  to  draw  the  enormous  sum  lying 
upon  M.  Vernelle's  desk. 

^  This  crushed  the  unfortunate  youth's  last  hope,  and  he  rushed  out 
like  a  madman  into  the  Rue  Berg^re,  which  was  greatly  crowded  as 
usual,  and  his  escape  from  hm^  run  over  by  some  passing  vehicle 
was  certainly  a  miracle. 

^'or  wp  jj§  pftrtiPUl^r  ^bout  gUuiiala|  mob  %  i9A%   Sii  lift  y^m 


16  BABIOLE,    THE    PEETTY    MILLINER. 

vintiially  ended ;  and  he  Ihought  strongly  of  rushing  off  to  throw 
himselt  ioto  the  Seine. 

It  would  have  been  folly  to  drop  the  package  ot  notes  on  the  side- 
walk, for  though  there  are  always  plenty  of  persons  to  pick  up  valu- 
ables, there  are  very  few  to  take  them  to  the  proper  authorities. 

•'  1  should  enrich  some  scoundrel,"  he  thought,  "  and  be  none  the 
less  dishonored  myself.  It  wo\\\d  be  far  belter  lor  me  to  reiurn  the 
notes  in  a  letter,  in  which  1  will  confess  all  to  Monsieur  Yernelle, 
and  tell  him  that  he  will  never  see  me  again.  But  to  whom  shall  1 
in' rust  the  letter?  i  can  not  conflde  it  to  a  common  messenger,  for 
he  would  mistrust  what  it  contained,  and  it  would  never  reach  its 
destination.  No,  nothing  is  left  for  me  but  to  die  But  1  am  de- 
lei  mined  not  to  be  carried  to  the  morgue.  1  will  kill  myself  at 
home." 

He  had  scarcely  made  this  desperate  resolve  when  he  recollected 
that  Marbeuf  was  waiting  tor  him.  at  the  caje. 

Had  he  any  right  to  put  an  end  to  his  life  without  seeing  his 
friend  agaiu,  without  pressing  his  hand  for  the  last  time,  and  with- 
out charging  him  to  defend  his  memory  and  to  explain,  to  those 
who  inquired  wny  he  had  died  by  his  owia  hand,  that  he  had  killed 
himself  to  expiate  a  crime  which  he  had  committed  unwittingl}- ? 
No,  on  the  contrary  it  was  his  duty  to  confess  all  to  his  friend,  and 
to  commend  his  mother  to  his  care. 

His  mother?  Far  away  in  the  little  hamlet  where  she  had  sought 
a  refuge,  she  was  anxiously  waiting  tor  the  letter  Andre  had  prom- 
ised to  write  to  her  as  soon  as  his  interview  with  M.  Vernelle  was 
over.  She  was  counting  the  hours.  And  instead  of  good  news,  the 
poor  woman  would  receive  the  last  farewell  of  hei"  only  son.  It 
was  enough,  and  more  than  enouirh  to  kill  her. 

**  No,"  he  murmured,  as  he  made  his  way  through  the  crowd  in 
the  Faubourg  Mont  martre,  which  he  had  reached  he  knew  not  how, 
**  no,  it  would  be  a  crime.  1  must  beg  Louis  to  go  to  Havre.  His 
employers  will  not  refuse  him  two  days'  leave.  He  can  see  her  and 
can  try  to  console  her,  for  though  Louis  is  a  little  rough  in  manner 
he  has  an  excellent  heart." 

These  reflections,  and  otliers  of  a  similar  nature,  engrossed  his 
mind  until  he  reached  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Drouot.  There,  he 
paused  for  a  moment  before  rejoining  Marbeuf,  wiiom  he  had  just 
perceived  seated  at  a  small  table  m  front  of  the  cafe  cnosen  as  their 
place  of  meeting. 

Just  then  a  gentleman  brushed  by  him,  and  in  him  Andre  fancied 
he  recognized  the  cashier  he  had  seen  on  the  staircase,  as  he  was 
leaving  Monsieur  Yernelle's  cabinet. 

11  mattered  little  to  Andre  whether  it  w^as  the  same  person  or  not, 
how^ever;  he  fell  no  curiosity  in  regard  to  him. 

Crossing  the  street,  Andre  threw  himself  upon  a  chair  beside 
Louis  Maibeuf,  who  eagerly  inquired: 

**  Well,  did  you  succeed?" 

Receiving  no  response,  Marbeuf  resumed  gloomily: 

"  1  see  by  3'our  face  that  the  banker  snubbed  you.  1  expected  it. 
Rich  men  have  no  feeling.  1  don't  believe  this  one  even  gianted 
you  a  hearing. " 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLINER.  17 

'*  You  are  very  much  mistaken, "  replied  Andr6,  bitterly.  "I  had 
only  to  send  in  my  card  to  obtain  an  interview.'* 

*'  And  after  reading  your  mother's  letter,  he  assumed  a  heart- 
broken air,  and  assured  you,  wrapping  the  bitter  pill  in  plenty  of 
honeyed  words,  that  he  could  do  nothing  whatever  for  you.  That 
is  always  the  way." 

"  You  do  Monsieur  Vernelle  injustice.  The  letter  seemed  to  touch 
him  deeply.     There  were  tears  in  his  eyes  as  he  read  It." 

•'Then  his  tears  probably  lie  very  near  the  surface.  It  would 
have  been  more  to  the  purpose  had  he  offered  you  a  place  in  his 
establishment." 

*•  He  offered  me  something  better." 

•*  What?  pecuniary  aid,  or  a  recommendation  to  one  of  hia  con- 
freres T' 

'*  Neither.     He  asked  me  to  act  as  his  private  secretary." 

"  And  you. refused?" 

**  No,  1  accepted.  I  can  enter  upon  my  duties  at  nine  o'clock  to- 
morrow morning,  if  1  choose." 

*'  And  the  salary?" 

"  1  am  to  have  five  hundred  francs  a  month,  to  begin  with." 

"Zounds!  you  are  in  luck!  I  have  been  clerking  seven  yeats, 
and  I  don't  get  as  much  as  that  yet.  And  did  Vernelle  promise  you 
advancement,  besides?" 

'*  He  gave  me  to  understand  that  he  would  take  care  of  my 
f utme,  and  that  from  this  day  forth  1  am  to  be  treated  as  one  of 
his  family.     1  am  to  breakfast  witn  him  every  day." 

**  And  still  you  are  not  satisfied!  You  certainly  must  be  hard  to 
please." 

•*  His  daughter,  too,  came  in  while  1  was  there,  and  he  introduced 
me  to  her." 

*'  That  caps  the  climax!  See  if  you  don't  marry  her  some  day. 
You  certainly  could  hope  lor  nothing  better  unless  you  expected 
Vernelle  to  olitr  you  the  charming  young  lad^^'s  hand  forthwith — 
for  she  is  charming,  is  she  not?" 

**  Adorable!  and  she  greeted  me  as  cordially  as  if  we  had  been 
frienfls  from  infancy.  She  spoke,  too,  very  afiectionately  of  my 
father,  whom  she  seems  to  have  met  very  often  in  former  years." 

"  'J'his  is  surely  a  most  promising  beginning.  Mark  my  words: 
in  less  than  two  years  you  will  be  Monsieur  Vernelle's  son-inlaw 
and  partner.  1  prophesied  as  much  before  your  visit,  you  recollect. 
This  is  one  of  the  advantages  of  being  handsome.  But  now  will 
>'0U  tell  me  why  you  attempted  to  fool  me  in  this  style?" 

**  1  am  sure  1  never  once  thought  of  doing  such  a  thing."  mur- 
mured Subligny,  shaking  his  head. 

*'  Do  you  want  to  try  to  make  me  believe  you  did  it  unintention- 
ally? You  come  here  with  a  most  lugubrious  countenance,  and 
uttering  sighs  that  seem  to  rend  your  very  soul,  and  I  am  obliged  to 
wring  your  report  from  you,  woid  by  word.  And  what  have  you 
to  tell  me?  Simply  that  your  fortune  is  made.  What  is  the  mean- 
m^  of  this  farce?  1  assure  you  that  1  think  it  in  very  bad  taste.  1 
am  your  friend.  1  thought  1  had  convinced  you  of  that,  and  yet 
you  treat  me  like  a  stranger." 

*'  You  will  pardon  my  dejection  when  you  learn  the  cause  of  it  *' 


18  BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLINER. 

*'  Indeed!    What  is  the  matter  with  you?'* 

'*  Theie  is  nothing  leit  for  me  but  to  put  a  bullet  through  my 
brain  or  drown  myself.  When  I  left  Monsieur  Vernelle  s  1  was 
strongly  tempted  to  go  straight  to  the  ri^er  instead  of  coming  here." 

"  You  want  to  kill  yourself!  Has  your  good  fortune  turned  your 
brain?" 

**  No.  1  have  not  lost  my  reason,  and  it  ig.  on  that  very  account 
that  I  am  resolved  to  put  an  end  to  my  lite.  Y'^ou  think  me  very 
lucliy,  and  you  are  rejoicing  over  my  good  fortune.  Ah,  well!  1 
return  to  you  dishonored.     1  am  a  thief!" 

"  A  thief,  you!  What  do  you  mean  by  this  most  unseemly  jest- 
ing?" 

"  1  am  a  thief,  1  tell  you.  While  1  was  in  the  banker  s  private 
office,  the  cashier  came  in  and  laid  a  large  package  of  bank-notes 
on  the  table.  A  moment  afterward  Monsieur  Vernelle  went  out, 
leaving  me  alone  in  the  room." 

•*  And  you  yielded  to  the  temptation?" 

*'  No.  The  devil  impelled  me  to  do  it  probably,  but  1  only  picked 
lip  one  of  the  packaijes  of  notes  to  see  liow  much  a  fortune  would 
weigh.  Monsieur  Vernelle  leturned  almost  instantly,  and  1  had  not 
time  to  put  the  money  back  where  1  found  it,  and  in  my  bewilder- 
ment and  contusion  i  involuntarily  slipped  the  package  into  my 
trousers  pocket. " 

**  Did  Vernelle  see  you  do  it?" 

**  No;  he  had  no  suspicions  of  the  fact,  for  he  redoubled  his  kind 
attentions  and  promises  of  assistance." 

*'  But  why  didn't  you  tell  him  the  truth  and  return  the  money?" 

*'  His  daughter  was  present— she  had  returned  with  him — and  1 
could  not  summon  up  courage.  1  could  not  bear  the  thought  of 
being  compelled  to  blush  beiore  her." 

*'  But  it  will  be  far  worse  to  be  arrested.  Vernelle  will  count  his 
money,  and  as  you  were  the  only  person  in  the  office—" 

"  He  will  enter  a  complaint  airainst  me,  and  1  shall  go  where 
other  thieves  go.     \ou  see  there  is  nothing  left  for  me  but  to  die." 

The  expression  of.  Marbeuf's  face  had  undergone  a  decided 
change.     Its  severity  was  truly  ominous. 

"  Even  death  will  not  save  you  from  dishonor,*'  he  said,  after  a 
painful  silence.     **  Some  other  plan  must  be  devised." 

*'  1  have  tried,  but  in  vain,"  replied  Andre,  sadly.  **  I  am  lost. 
1  realize  the  fact,  and  1  am  resigned  to  my  fate.  I  would  rather 
die  than  go  to  prison,  but  1  would  first  like  to  restore  the  money  1 
have  stolen." 

•*1  should  hope  so,  indeed,"  replied  Maibeuf,  almost  sulkily. 
•*  What  is  the  amount?" 

•*  1  do  not  know  exactly.  1  have  nor  dared  to  touch  it  since  1  put 
Jt  in  my  pocket.  It  is  a  package  made  up  of  several  smaller  pack- 
ages, secured  by  pins,  and  tied  together  with  a  bit  of  silk." 

"  It  is  one  hundred  thousand  francs  then,"  said  Marbeuf,  who* 
sometimes  went  to  the  bank  to  draw  money  for  his  employer.. 
**  And  it  was  the  cashier  who  brought  this  money  into  the  room, 
you  say?" 

"  Yes,  there  were  eight  hundred  thousand  francs  in  all,  and  a 
gentleman  was  to  c*iU  for  it  ^t  su  o'clock— a  Monsieur  Bertand— " 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLINER.  19 

**  Bertand,  1  know  him.  He  is  very  rich,  but  he  \s  not  a  man  to 
take  money  without  counting  it,  and  he  will  be  pitiless.  He  once 
dismissed  a  subordinate  tor  making  a  mistake  ot  six  hundred  francs 
in  the  settlement  ot  au  account." 

**  And  by  this  time  he  must  have  discovered  that  he  has  lost  one 
hundred  thousand  francs,  tor  1  think  1  met  him  in  the  gateway,  as 
1  was  coming  out." 

**  The  deuce!  then  there  is  no  time  to  lose.  Still,  1  am  sure  that 
Vernelle  will  not  act  hastily.  He  will  question  his  cashier  who  re- 
ceived the  money,  and  the  clerk  who  went  to  the  bank  lor  it— tor  it 
must  have  come  from  the  bank — Vernelle  would  not  be  likely  to 
keep  so  much  money  in  his  safe.  Now  neither  the  cashier  nor  the 
clerk  is  at  hand,  for  the  office  is  closed,  and  the  clerks  have  gone 
home." 

**  Yes,  the  cashier  left  just  as  1  did." 

**  And  he  will  not  return  this  evening,  so  we  have  until  to- 
morrow." 

*'  Then  you  hope  to  extricate  me  from  this  frightful  position?" 

Marbeuf  seemed  to  be  in  no  haste  to  reply.  He  was  gazing  search- 
ing] y  at  his  unfortunate  friend,  who  hung  his  head  like  a  criminal 
iQ  the  presence  of  his  judge. 

"Listen,  Andre,"  he  said,  at  last.  "1  swore  to  you  that  if  I 
thought  you  guilty,  even  in  thought,  1  would  abandon  3^ou  to  your 
fate,  and  never  speak  to  you  agam  while  1  live.  Integrity  is  my 
only  wealth,  for  1  have  no  protector,  and  have  nothing  to  hope  for 
except  fiom  my  industry  and  good  conduct." 

Andre  was  cut  to  the  heait  by  this  indirect  reproof  which  he  had 
richly  deserved,  but  he  ventured  no  protest. 

"1  do  not  doubt  that  5^ou  have  told  me  the  truth,"  continued 
Marbeuf,  **  for  if  you  were  a  aishonest  man,  you  would  not  have 
confessed  your  fault.  It  is  grave,  very  grave,  and  it  may  have 
consequences  that  you  have  not  foreseen.  Innocent  parties  may  be 
accused  of  the  iheft — " 

"  1  know  it, -and  1  would  rather  denounce  myself  than  be  the 
cause  of  such  a  calamity." 

'*  Denounce  yourself!  That  is  what  you  had  better  do,  perhaps. 
1  must  admit,  however,  that  it  would  cost  5^ou  the  esteem  of  Mon- 
sieur Vernelle  and  his  daughter,  for  you  would  lose  it — no  business 
man  would  ever  believe  that  you  had  taken  this  money  unintention- 
ally. The  money  of  others  is  sacred,  and  must  not  be  touched  under 
any  pretext  whatsoever." 

Andre  was  silent,  and  gf eat  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks. 

**  1  will  not  demand  such  a  cruel  sacrifice  of  you,  oor  do  i  despair 
of  saving  >ou.  i  have  a  plan,  though  1  am  not  yet  sure  that  it  is 
feasible,  so  there  are  a  few  questions  1  should  like  to  ask  you.  But 
let  us  have  dinner." 

*•  Dinner,  you  can  think  of  dinner!" 

**  Yes,  certainly.  1  have  no  foitune  in  my  pocket  to  worry  me, 
and  I  am  hungry.  If  you  don't  care  to  eat,  you  can  tell  me  what  1 
wish  to  know  while  we  are  at  the  table."  Andre  dared  not  refuse. 
He  perceived  a  gleam  of  hope,  aud  he  clutched  at  it  as  a  drowning 
jnan  clutclies  at  a  straw. 

Marbeuf  had  already  called  the  waiter  aud  paid  for  the  appetizer  he 


20  BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLIIS^ER. 

had  partaken  of  while  waiting  for  his  friend.  He  now  rose,  and 
taking  Andre  by  the  arm  led  him  toward  a  restaurant  on  the  corner 
of  the  Rue  Lafayette  and  the  Fauboarg  Mont  mart  re. 

Andre  had  never  before  set  foot  in  one  of  these  cheap  restaurants. 
When  he  visited  Paris  in  the  days  of  his  prosperity,  he  had  always 
dined  at  the  Cafe  Anglais  or  at  the  Maison  d'Or,  and  since  his 
father's  ruin  he  had  not  left  the  village  in  which  they  nad  taken  up 
their  abode. 

Marbeuf  led  his  friend  upstairs,  and  took  his  seat  at  a  i\'hite  mar- 
ble table,  where  his  order  was  promptly  taken  by  a  neat  young  girl, 
wearing  a  white  apron. 

Most  of  the  surrounding  tables  were  already  occupied;  and  it 
seemed  advisable  tor  the  friends  to  profit  by  the  few  moments  of 
comparative  isolation  that  remained. 

•*  You  wish  to  restore  the  money,  do  you  not?"  inquired  Marbeuf , 
*'  and  restore  it  without  letting  Monsieur  Vernelle  know  that  it  was 
you  who  made  restitution?" 

**  Yes,  certainly;  but  how  can  that  be  managed?  To  whom  can 
I  intrust  this  money  wiiich  1  cannot  return  myself  under  penalty  of 
discovery?    1  might  send  it  by  post—" 

•*  That  would  be  the  worst  of  methods.  Y'ou  could  not  register 
the  letter  without  giving  your  name  and  address;  and  if  you  only 
throw  the  package  into  the  main-box  it  is  more  than  likely  that  it 
will  never  leach  its  destination.  The  post-otfice  clerks  and  letter- 
carriers  are  honest,  at  least  nearly  all  of  them,  but  there  are  some 
exceptions,  and  the  amount  is  large  enough  to  tempt  almost  any  one. 
Besides,  Monsieur  Vernelle  would  have  no  dilEculty  in  guessing  where 
the  money  came  from.  This  plan,  consequently,  is  not  to  be 
thought  i}f,  and  1  have  a  better  one  to  propose  to  you. 

*'  At  what  hour  does  the  banker  dine?" 

*'  How  can  you  expect  me  to  know?"  responded  Andre,  wonder- 
ingly. 

*'  That  is  true;  he  has  not  yet  invited  you  to  dinner.  He  must 
dine  at  about  seven  o'clock,  so  1  would  be  almost  sure  to  find  him 
at  home  when  1  leave  here." 

**  What!  you  are  willing  to—?" 

*'  Yes,  1  have  a  plan  which  may  prove  practicable.  1  will  go  to 
Vernelle,  and  tell  him  that  1  have  found  in  the  court-yard  of  his 
house  a  package  of  bank-notes  which  is  probably  his  property,  and 
which  1  therefore  return  to  him.  1  shall  take  care  to  mention  the 
place  where  I  picked  the  money  up.  It  will  be  at  the  foot  of  the 
staircase  used  by  the  clerks.  1  am  familiar  with  the  interior  of  the 
establishment,  having  been  sent  there  several  times  by  ni}^  employer. 
My  story  will  sound  very  plausible,  and  Vernelle  will  not  doubt  it 
for  an  instant.  He  will  think  that  the  messenger  dropped  one  of 
the  packages,  and  that  his  cashier  failed  to  notice  the  loss  when  he 
counted  it. ' ' 

"  But  he  will  ask  your  namef 

"  That  is  more  than  probable,  but  I  shall  not  be  foolish  enough 
to  tell  it,  any  more  than  1  shall  accept  the  reward  he  will  be  sure  to 
offer  me.  If  1  disclose  my  name,  he  will  be  sure  to  find  out  that  1 
am  a  friend  of  yours,  and  in  that  case,  he  would  instantly  suspect 
that  1  was  acting  as  an  intermediary  between  yourself  and  him,    1 


BABIOLE,   THE    PEETTY    MILLINER.  21 

shall  positively  refuse  to  tell  him  who  1  am,  and  if  he  insists,  why 
I  shall  ^ive  him  some  fictitious  name.  But  he  will  believe  me,  for 
1  assure  you  that  I  shall  play  ray  role  to  perteclion.  If  you  will 
play  your  part  equally  well,  there  will  be  no  trouble." 

**  My  part!  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Andre,  wonderingly. 

*'  Yernelle  must  not  j-uspect  you,  so  j^ou  must  go  to  him  to-mor- 
row at  the  appointed  hour." 

**  1  am  by  no  means  sure  that  1  shall  have  the  courage." 

**  But  you  must.  If  you  fail  to  keep  your  appointment,  Vernelle 
will  speedily  understand  that  my  pretended  finding  of  the  money 
was  only  invented  to  conceal  your  guilt,  for  at  this  very  moment 
he  is  probably  saying  to  himself  that  you  must  be  the  person  that 
took  the  money." 

"  I  know  it,  and  the  mere  thought  of  it  fills  me  with  shame  un- 
utterable. ' ' 

**  You  must  exerciise  more  self-control.  Y'our  employer  will  re- 
ceive you  cordially,  as  the  money  will  have  been  restored  before  you 
present  yourself;  but  it  is  more  than  likely  that  he  will  relate  the 
singular  circumstance  to  you.  If  he  should  speak  of  the  lost  and 
miraculously  found  ban k- notes,  try  to  repress  all  signs  of  emotion. 
All  my  trouble  will  be  lost  if  you  do  not  keep  your  wits  about 
you." 

*'  I  will  do  my  best,  but  I  cannot  vouch  for  my  success,"  mur- 
mured the  poor  boy.  **  But  1  must  see  you  again  before  1  risk  a 
visit  to  Yernelle' 3  office,  for  if  you  should  fail,  or  if  any  unforeseen 
circumstance  should  occur — " 

**  Y^ou  will  be  informed  of  the  result  this  evening.  Go  directly  to 
my  rooms  after  leaving  here,  and  I  will  rejoin  you  there  in  an  hour 
—or  perhaps  two  hours.  That  depends  up(m  whether  Ifind  Vernelle 
at  home,  or  am  compelled  to  go  after  him,  as  I  shall  do,  if  necessary, 
for  this  scheme  is  feasible  only  if  it  is  carried  into  execution  to-day. 
1  shall  not  return  until  after  I  have  restored  this  money  to  its  owner, 
but  I  will  return,  I  promise  you  that.  You  have  only  to  wait  for 
me." 

**  In  an  agony  of  suspense,  as  you  may  imagine." 

**  Yes,  but  if  1  succeed,  as  1  am  sure  I  shall,  you  will  get  off  very 
easily. 

**  See,  here  is  the  key  of  my  apartment.    Hand  me  the  notes, 

while  we  are  still  alone  at  the  table  and  while  no  one  is  looking  ac 

us." 
Andre  asked  nothing  better  than  to  be  relieved  of  a  burden  that 

weighed  much  more  heavily  upon  his  conscience  than  on  his  person. 

He  took  the  key,  and  handed  the  package  to  Marbeuf,  who  hastily 

put  it  out  of  sight. 
But  suddenly  Andre  turned  pale,  and  said,  in  a  low  tone: 
"  I  am  lost!    The  cashier  is  here.     He  saw  us." 
*•  The  cashier!"  repeated  Marbeuf.     *'  What  cashier?" 
•'Monsieur  Vernelle's  cashier,"  replied  Andre.     "Don't  speak 

80  loud,  I  beg.     He  sees  us,  and  he  may  overhear  us." 
"  Are  you  sure  that  you  are  not  mistaken  in  the  person?" 
*'  Perfectly  sure.     He  entered  Monsieur  Vernelle's  office  while  I 

was  there,  and  1  met  him  again  on  the  staircase  as  1  was  leaving 


22  BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MTLLTKER. 

the  house.  He  must  have  taken  the  same  route  that  1  did,  tor  he 
passed  me  again  on  the  corner  ot  the  Faubourg  Montniartre." 

'*'  What  it  he  has  been  foUowmg  you?" 

**  1  think  not.  Besides,  he  can  know  nothing  about  the  affair,  as 
he  left  Monsieur  Vernelle's  house  at  the  same  time  1  did.'* 

'*  That  is  true.  Point  him  out  to  me,  this  cashier  who  appears  at 
such  inopportune  moments." 

•'  Don't  turn  around,  or  he  will  see  that  we  are  speaking  of  him. 
It  is  the  heavily-bearded  man  who  is  dining  alone  at  a  table  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  room,  and  directly  across  from  us." 

•*  Oh,  yes,  1  can  .  ee  him  out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye.  He  has  a 
prosperous  air,  and  1  am  surprised  to  see  him  at  a  restaurant  of  this 
class.     He  must  be  of  an  economical  turn." 

Andre  listened,  without  saying  a  word,  fearing  lest  he  should  at- 
tract the  attention  ot  this  dangerous  neighbor. 

But  the  person  referred  to,  seemed  to  be  paying  no  attention  to  the 
two  friends. 

He  was  a  man  at  least  forty  years  ot  age,  though  he  looked  consid- 
erably younger.  He  had  jet-blacL^  hair,  and  a  beard  of  the  same 
color,  rather  too  long,  but  carefull}^  kept.  He  wore  a  neatly  fitting 
black  frock  coat,  an  irreproachable  necktie,  and  a  handsome  paii  of 
light-gray  trousers. 

*'  He  seems  to  be  more  of  a  fop  than  an  epicure,"  remarked  Mar- 
beuf,  who  was  still  watching  him  furtively,  "  and  he  is  not  gener- 
ous, tor  he  has  given  nothing  to  the  waiter.  He  is  going  now.  Well, 
1  can't  say  that  1  regret  it  very  deeply." 

•*  But  he  saw  me  hand  yuu  the  bank-notes." 

*'  Nonsense!  you  only  iinagine  that.  In  fact,  1  doubt  very  much 
if  he  has  even  recognized  you.  Besides,  he  is  too  far  off  to  be  able  to 
see  whether  the  packnge  consisted  of  bank-notes  or  old  newspapers. 
Thousand-franc  notes,  or  indeed,  bank-notes  of  any  denomination 
are  not  very  common  here.  So  don't  be  uneasy.  My  plan  will  prove 
successful,  never  fear." 

And  beckoning  to  the  waitress,  Marbeuf  gave  her  a  pourhoire,  and 
rose  to  go. 

He  had  eaten  but  little,  and  Andre  had  scarcely  touched  either  of 
the  three  dishes  his  companion  had  ordered. 

W  hen  they  were  once  more  on  the  pavement,  Marbeuf  turned  to 
Andre,  and  said: 

"  It  is  now  halt  past  eight,  and  a  ver.y  good  time  it  is.  If  if  were 
later,  1  should  not  have  much  chance  of  finding  Yernelle,  for  be 
goes  out  a  great  deal.  I  can  go  after  him,  ot  course,  if  necessary, 
but  I  should  much  prefer  to  see  him  at  his  own  house.  1  must  leave 
you  now,  so  good  by.  1  hope  to  see  you  again  before  an  hour  has 
elapsed." 

A  cordial  pressure  of  the  hand  tempered  the  apparent  coldness  of 
these  concluding  words,  but  Andre  turned  away  with  a  bursting 
heart  and  a  wildly  throbbing  brain. 

Marbeuf  though  less  agitated  than  his  friend,  was  by  no  means  as 
sure  ot  the  success  of  his  scheme  as  he  pretended. 

Moreover,  the  attempt  was  attended  with  some  little  personal  risk, 
for  in  jpite  of  his  determination  to  maintain  his  incognito,  tue 
banker  might  have  him  followed  after  the  interview,  learn  who  he 


SABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLIKER.  23 

was,  and  inform  his  employers  of  the  rather  suspicious  part  he  had 
played  in  this  affair. 

But  this  consideration  was  not  of  a  nature  to  deler  him.  Under 
a  decidedly  commonplace  exterior,  Louis  Marbeuf  concealed  a  tender, 
generous,  and  even  enthusiastic  soul.  Though  a  child  ol  the  peo- 
ple, he  had  sentiments  that  would  do  honor  to  a  nobleman.  He 
was  absolutely  without  envy,  that  groveling  passion  that  corrupts 
the  heart  ot  so  many  persons.  It  certainly  would  not  have  been 
strange  had  he  felt  some  slight  jealousy  of  Andre,  who  had  just  se- 
cured a  position  which  ten  years  of  hard  work  had  not  obtained  for 
him,  and  yet  he  thought  onlyot  extricating  his  triend  from  the  peril 
into  which  he  had  fallen,  and  he  freely  forgave  him  for  a  misde- 
meanor which  he  would  never  have  pardoned  in  himself,  for  he  wa« 
indulgent  only  toward  othei-s. 

The  Rue  Bergere  was  not  far  from  the  restaurant  where  they  had 
dined,  and  ten  minutes  after  leaving  Andre,  he  reached  the  entrance 
of  the  house  where  Subligny  had  so  foolishly  imperiled  his  future. 

His  ring  was  answered  by  a  footman  who  replied  that  his  master 
had  gone  with  mademoiselle  to  see  a  new  play  at  the  Renaissance 
Theater. 

The  banker's  absence  deranged  all  Marbeuf 's  carefully  laid  plans. 
How  could  he  gain  an  entrance  to  the  box  occupied  by  Monsieur 
Vemelle,  and  how  could  he  restore  the  money  in  the  daughter's 
presence?  The  situation  w^as  so  embarrassing  that  Andre's  friend 
wondered  for  a  moment,  if  it  would  not  be  safer  and  easier  to  state 
the  case  to  the  servant  and  intrust  the  money  to  him. 

This  man  certainly  did  not  know  him,  consequently  Marbeuf  could 
feel  comparatively  sure  that  Monsieur  Vemelle  would  never  know 
who  had  made  this  restitution.  Still,  the  banker  might  suppose  that 
it  had  been  made  by  Andre ;  besides,  footmen  are  not  above  temp- 
tation, and  this  one  might  appropriate  the  money. 

After  a  little  reflection,  Marbeuf  decided  to  keep  the  money  in  his 
pocket  and  try  his  luck  at  the  Renaissance. 

He  hastened  toward  the  theater,  choosing  the  shortest  route,  that 
is  to  say,  not  by  the  boulevards,  but  by  the  Rue  de  I'Echiquier, 
which  is  always  greatly  crowded  in  the  daytime,  and  almost  deserted 
at  night,  for  the  reason  that  it  is  lined  with  workshops  which  close 
at  eight  o'clock. 

Marbeuf  walked  on  rapidly  without  looking  behind  him;  but  It 
suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  in  order  to  make  his  story  seem 
plausible,  the  bank-notes  must  be  a  little  soiled  with  mud,  and  as 
there  is  plenty  of  mud  and  dirt  in  the  Rue  de  I'Echiquier,  he 
stopped  to  rub  them  gently  on  the  sidewalk. 

When  he  raised  his  head  again  he  was  suri)rised  to  see,  a  few 
steps  from  him,  a  man  wearing  a  blouse  and  with  a  soft  felt  hat 
pulled  down  over  his  eyes.  The  idea  that  this  man  w^as  watching  his 
movements  occurred  to  him,  but  nevertheless  he  walked  quietly  on. 

After  going  a  little  further,  heglanoed  back  and  saw  that  the  man 
was  certainly  following  him,  and  even  quickening  his  pace  to  over- 
take him.  The  fact  excited  no  alarm,  however.  What  had  he  to 
tear  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  in  a  thickly  settled  part  of  the 
city?  Besides,  this  person  certainly  could  huve  no  suspicion  that 


24  BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLIXER. 

Marbeuf  had  a  hundred  thousand  francs  in  his  pocket.  So  he  walked 
briskly  on,  but  alas!  he  soon  encounteerd  an  obstacle. 

It  was  one  of  those  deep  trenches,  or  openings,  in  the  sidewalk, 
which  have  occasioned  so  many  accidents  in  Paris. 

Marbeuf  did  not  see  it  until  it  was  under  his  very  feet,  tli^n,  of 
course,  he  hastily  stepped  back,  but  unfortunately  the  man  in  the 
blouse  had  begun  to  run,  and  as  he  passed,  he  jostled  Marbeuf  with 
such  violence  that  the  latter  fell  head  foremost  into  the  opening, 
where  he  lay  like  one  dead. 

Jt  was  decreed  that  the  hundred  thousand  francs  should  not  be 
returned  to  M.  Vernelle's  sate  that  night. 


CHAPTER  11. 

While  Louis  Marbeuf  was  incurring  these  risks  to  save  his  friend 
from  dishonor,  tliis  friend  was  slowly  returning  to  the  domicile  which 
they  had  shared  since  morning. 

Andre  was  in  no  haste,  for  he  foresaw  that  he  would  have  to  wait 
a  lonii;  time  for  his  friend's  return,  nor  was  he  very  sanguine  of  the 
success  of  the  al tempt. 

All  his  gloomy  foreboding  had  returned  with  redoubled  force, 
and  he  felt  inclined  to  linger  in  the  street  end  divert  his  thoughts,  if 
possible,  by  the  noise  and  confusion  around  him.  Besides,  one  does 
not  commit  suicide  in  the  street,  and  he  dreaded  the  moment  when 
the  demon  of  self  destruction,  which  solitude  would  be  sure  to  in^ 
voke,  would  return  to  haunt  him. 

He  had  promised  Marbeuf  to  go  home  and  wait  tor  him,  however, 
so  he  dared  not  extend  his  promenade  too  far,  but  he  chose  the  long- 
est way. 

Marbeuf  resided  at  the  end  of  the  RUe  Lamartine,  close  by  the 
church  of  Notre  Dame  de  Lorette;  and  Andre  walked  up  the  Rue 
Lafayette  and  crossed  Montholon  Square,  instead  of  going  straight 
hoiiie. 

He  walked  slowly,  with  his  head  bowed  upon  his  breast,  and  his 
soul  oppressed  by  the  remembrance  of  his  fault.  He  reviewed  each 
incident  of  the  scene  in  the  cabinet.  Again  the  stern  face  of  the 
banker  rose  beiore  his  mental  vision,  and,  ever  and  anon,  the  grace- 
ful form  of  Clemence  Vernelle,  who  seemed  to  smile  upon  him  re- 
assuiingly. 

She  had  only  appeared  and  disappeared,  this  adorable  young  girl ; 
they  had  exchanged  only  a  few  words,  and  yet  she  had  made  a  deep 
impression  upon  Andre's  heart.  He  was  not  yet  exactly  in  love  with 
her,  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  they  understood  each  other  without 
speaking— that  there  was  between  them  the  profound  and  spon- 
taneous sympathy  which  is  the  prelude  to  a  passion. 

And  of  this  newly  awakened  hope,  this  scarcely  begun  dream, 
there  remained  only  regret  and  remorse.  Clemence  was  lost  to  him 
forever.     He  felt  that  he  was  unworthy  of  her. 

These  gloomy  reflections  engrossed  his  mind  until  he  reached  the 
square.  There  a  woman,  who  was  coming  from  the  opposite  direc- 
tion, passed  him,  closely  followed  by  a  man  who  seemed  to  be  trying 
10  talk  to  her,  but  to  whom  she  refused  to  listen,  for  she  quickened 
her  pace  in  order  to  avoid  him. 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLINER.  25 

It  was  one  of  those  Parisian  episodes  which  attract  little  attention, 
not  only  because  they  are  of  such  frequent  occurrence,  but  because, 
nine  times  out  of  ten,  the  victim  is  not  worthy  of  protection. 

The  person  who  had  just  passed  Aniire  was  very  young.  She  had 
a  larffe  bandbox  in  her  hand,  and  she  was  very  plainly  dressed. 

She  turned  into  the  RueMontholon,  which  happened  to  be  deserted 
for  the  moment,  and  the  man  emboldened,  probably,  by  that  fact, 
tried  to  put  his  arm  aiound  the  girl's  w^aist.  Though  violently  re- 
pulsed, he  was  about  to  return  to  the  charge,  when  Andre  decided 
io  interfere. 

Overtaking  the  pair  with  a  few  hurried  strides,  he  seized  the  inso- 
lent wretch,  hurled  him  aside,  and  offered  his  arm  to  the  young  girl, 
who  accepted  it  without  a  word. 

The  man  was  apparently  afraid  to  engage  in  a  quarrel,  for  he 
slunk  away  with  a  muttered  oath. 

Andre  had  only  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  face,  and  yet  it  seemed  to 
him  that  this  was  not  the  tirst  time  he  had  seen  him.  This  was  his 
first  thought,  his  second  was  to  extricate  himself  from  his  rather  em- 
barrassing position.  He  had  undertaken  the  defense  of  a  grisette, 
but  he  wished  the  matter  to  end  there,  and  he  was  about  to  withdraw 
his  arm  when  she  said  to  him: 

*'  I  thank  you,  monsieur,  for  having  come  to  my  assistance.  Do 
not  leave  me  yet,  1  beg.  1  live  only  a  short  distance  from  here. 
Will  you  not  have  the  kindness  to  accompany  me  to  my  door?" 

The  invitation  seemed  rather  bold^  but  the  voice  was  so  sweet,  and 
the  manner  so  fiank,  that  any  doubt  of  the  speaker's  intentions  was 
impossible. 

**  Certainly,  mademoiselle,"  Andre  replied,  courteously.  '*  You 
must  have  been  much  frightened?" 

"Oh,  1  am  accustomed  to  these  disasreeable  adventures.  Men 
imagine  1  will  listen  to  them,  but  1  know  how  to  put  tliem  down; 
at  least,  generally.  But  1  must  confess  that  1  was  afraid  this  time; 
the  man  was  such  a  coax  so  creature.*' 

**  He  will  not  trouble  you  while  1  am  with  you." 

**  ]No,  all  such  men  are  cowards.  1  am  very  glad  that  you  hap- 
pened to  be  here  to  free  me  from  his  clutches." 

*'  But  why  do  you  £ro  out  ah)ne  in  the  evening?" 

"  Because  there  is  no  one  to  accompany  me  home  from  the  shop. 
My  parents  are  dead,  and  the  only  relative  1  have  living  is  an  uncle, 
who  is  busy  all  day,  and  who  has  not  time  to  escort  me  home,  for 
he  is  often  obliged  to  work  until  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening  at  the 
banking-house  where  he  is  employed.  I  see  him  only  on  Sunday." 
.     *•  And  you  have  no  lover?" 

*' i  haven't  time,''  replied  the  girl,  laughing.  "Besides  1  don't 
want  any." 

Andre  thought  it  time  to  drop  a  conversation  which  threatened 
to  become  too  personal,  and  his  protegee  did  not  attempt  to  renew  it. 

They  had  passed  the  Rue  Rochechouart,  and  were  walking 
up  the  Rue  Lamartine,  when  the  j^oung  eirl  paused  in  front  ol  a 
house,  and  letting  go  her  hold  of  the  arm  upon  which  she  had  been 
leaning,  said  to  him: 

"  Here  1  am  at  my  own  door,  sir.  Let  me  thank  you  once  more, 
and  bid  you  good-night." 


2G  BABIOLE,    TTJE    PRETTY    MtLtT^NTlillL 

"What!  do  you  live  bere?*' exclaimed  Andre,  recognizing  the 
house  as  that  in'wliich  his  friend  Marbeut  had  rooms. 

*'  Yes,  sir;  on  the  fourth  floor." 

"So  do  1." 

**  Impossible!    I  have  never  seen  you  before." 

"  1  only  arrived  in  Paris  this  morning,  and  am  stopping  for  the 
present  with  a  friend." 

**  With  Monsieur  Marbeuf,  then.  Oh,  1  know  him  very  well,  at 
least,  by  si^ht— his  windows  overlook  the  court-j^nrd,  as  do  mine 
YVe  live  directly  opposite  each  other,  and  our  doors  open  upon  the 
same  landing.  But  we  do  not  visit.  Your  friend  seems  rather  re- 
served." 

Andre  made  no  reply.  He  took  the  remark  for  an  invitation,  and 
aid  not  wish  to  commit  himself. 

'*  However,  1  am  seldom  oi  never  at  home,"  oonfinuod  the  girl, 
who  had  perhaps  read  his  thoughts.  '*  Now  will  you  kindly  allow 
me  10  enter  first?  Our  portress  is  a  great  gossip,  and  if  she  sees  me 
coming  in  with  you,  she  will  talk  about  it  for  a  month." 

"  Y'ou  are  right,  mademoiselle,"  replied  Andre,  stepping  aside  to 
let  her  pass. 

The  door  was  open,  and  the  girl,  a  little  surprised  by  so  much 
coldness,  bowed  slightly  to  her  defender,  and  disappeared  in  the 


Andre  entered  in  his  turn,  after  waiting  a  few  minutes  on  the 
pavement.  His  former  doubts  and  fears  had  assailed  him;  and  he 
had  already  ceased  to  think  of  the  girl  who  had  made  him  forget 
for  an  instant  that  his  fate  was  perhaps  being  decided  while  he  talked 
with  her. 

His  friend's  apartments  consisted  of  four  very  modestly  furnished 
rooms.  The  one  Andre  occupied  contained  a  few  cane  seat  chairs,  a 
bureau,  and  a  writing-table.  Upon  the  wall  hung  a  few  photographs, 
a  cuckoo  clock,  a  revolver,  and  two  or  three  old  engravings. 

Andre,  before  lighting  a  candle,  noticed,  through  the  uncurtained 
window,  another  lighted  window  on  the  other  side  of  the  narrow 
court-yard — the  w  indow  of  the  young  lady  he  had  just  met,  probably. 
He  did  not  stop  to  look  at  it,  however;  but  seated  himself  at  the 
table  to  await  his  friend's  return.  He  had  left  the  key  in  tlie  door 
80  Ma>beuf  could  enter  without  ringing,  for  he  felt  overcome  with 
fatigue,  and  feared  that  he  might  drop  asleep  in  spite  of  the  anxiety 
that  tormented  him. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  must  have  walked  a  hundred  miles  during 
the  day,  though  he  had  really  walked  but  very  b'ttle.  It  was  his 
brain  that  was  weary,  and  such  wearmess  is  harder  to  bear  than 
physical  fatigue. 

He  tried  to  struggle  against  his  desire  to  sleep,  but  his  ej^es  closed, 
his  head  sunk  upon  the  arm  ^hich  was  resting  on  the  table,  and 
ihe  was  soon  sound  asleep. 

When  he  awoke  he  was  still  alone,  and  his  first  thought  was  to 
ascertain  the  time. 

He  rose  to  look  at  the  cuckoo  clock  that  hung  on  the  wall.  It  was 
a  quarter  of  twelve  o'clock,  and  Marbeuf  had  not  yet  returned. 

*1  am  lost  I"  exclaimed  the  wretched  youth.  **  Louis  has  not 
succeeded  in  deceiving  Monsieur  Yernelle,  and  he  does  not  bring  m^ 


BABIOLE,    TSIi    PilETTT    MlLLIKER.  2? 

news  of  his  failure.  If  he  had  not  found  the  banker  he  would  have 
returned  to  reassure  me.     What  can  have  happened  to  him?" 

A  most  unworthy  suspicion  flashed  through  his  mind.  Could  it 
be  that  Marbeuf  had  offered  his  services  in  order  to  obtain  possession 
ot  the  hundred  thousand  francs?  But  we  will  do  him  the  justice  to 
say  that  he  harbored  the  thought  only  lor  an  instant.  He  knew  that 
Marbeuf 's  honesty  was  above  suspicion. 

Could  it  be  that  some  one  had  murdered  him,  in  order  to  obtain 
possession  of  the  money?  That  was  by  no  means  impossible  in 
these  days  ot  daring  robberies. 

**  However  that  may  be,  the  only  thing  left  for  me  is  to  die/'  said 
Andre,  gloomily. 

His  eyes  involuntarily  turned  to  the  revolver  hanging  on  the  wall. 
He  took  it  down,  examined  it,  and  found  that  it  was  loaded. 

"That  is  fortunate,"  he  murmured.  **  When  the  clock  strikes 
twelve  1  will  blow  my  brains  out." 

He  was  mad,  for  he  did  not  even  think  of  writing  to  his  mother. 
Revolver  in  hand,  he  stood  watching  the  hands  as  they  moved 
slowly  around  the  dial,  and  counting  the  moments  that  were  left  for 
him  to  live. 

The  ticking  of  the  pendulum  resounded  loudly  in  his  ears.  He 
suffered  as  one  suffers  in  the  death  agony. 

I'hia  suspense  lasted  until  lie  heard  the  creaking  sound  that  an- 
nounced the  speedy  striking  of  one  of  these  cuckoo  clocks;  then  he 
put  the  pistol  to  one  of  his  temples,  and  was  about  to  pull  the  trig- 
ger when  he  heard  the  door  open. 

**  It  is  he!  it  is  Marbeuf!"  he  exclaimed,  luwering  his  weapon. 

It  was  not  Marbeuf,  and  Andre  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise. 

The  girl  he  had  protected  stood  before  him,  pale,  greatly  agitated^ 
and  evidently  very  much  embarrassed  at  her  intrusion  into  a^neigh- 
bor's  apartments  at  such  an  unseasonable  hour.  Nor  was  her  recep- 
tion calculated  to  reassure  her. 

**  What  do  you  want?"  he  inquired,  angrily,  advancing  to  bar 
her  passage. 

But  she  entered  in  spite  of  him. 

**  Will  you  answer  me?"  he  said,  rudely.  **  1  warn  you  that  yoii 
are  wasting  your  time  here." 

"  Oh,  sir,  do  not  misjudge  me,"  she  said,  imploringly,  with  tears 
in  her  eyes. 

"  Speak,  then,  and  tell  me  what  you  want, "  replied  Andre,  slightly 
appeased  by  her  entreating  manner  and  words. 

She  still  hesitated,  but  at  last,  in  a  voice  that  trembled  with  emo- 
tion, she  said: 

*'  Why  do  3^ou  wish  to  die?" 

"  You  are  mad,"  said  Andre. 

**  Tiiat  pistol  you  hold  in  your  hand—" 

*'  Well?" 

**  From  my  window  1  saw  you  rise,  go  to  the  clock,  see  what  time 
it  was,  take  the  revolver — " 

"  How  dare  you  play  the  spy  on  me?" 

*•  No,  no.  1  assure  you  that  it  was  only  by  chance  1  happened  (o 
Bee  you.    There  are  no  curtains  to  your  window," 


28  BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLlNEH. 

"  Why  were  you  not  in  bed?  It  is  now  more  than  three  hours 
since  you  returned  home." 

"  I  had  a  bonnet  to  trim.  We  are  very  busy  at  the  shop,  now. 
1  had  just  finished  my  work  and  was  gomg  to  bed  when  I  no- 
ticed that  there  was  a  light  in  your  room." 

*'  And  because  you  saw  me  with  a  pistol  in  my  hand,  you  fancied 
1  was  going  to  kill  myself.  You  have  a  very  vivid  imagination, 
mademoiselle." 

**  1  hope  1  was  mistaken,  1  am  sure,  but  why  are  you  so  pale? 
Tell  me  the  truth,  1  beg.     Sorrie  misfortune  has  befallen  you." 

*'  What  right  have  you  to  meddle  with  my  affairs?"  said  Andre, 
impatiently. 

"  Did  you  not  meddle  with  mine?"  replied  the  girl,  gently.  **  You 
did  not  know  me,  and  yet  you  protected  me  from  a  man  who  in- 
sulted me.     You  are  no  longer  a  stranger  in  my  eyes." 

Andre  threw  the  pistol  on  the  table.     He  said  to  himself: 

"  1  shall  have  plenty  ot  time  between  now  and  to-morrow  to  blow 
my  brains  out,  and  if  Marbeuf  should  return,  this  girl  will  have  saved 
my  lite." 

**  You  were  mistaken  in  regard  to  the  object  of  my  visit,"  the 
girl  continued.'    "  It  you  knew  who  1  am — " 

**  The  fact  is  1  know  nothing  at  all  about  you,"  replied  Andre, 
ironically. 

*'  Allow  me  to  tell  you,  then;  but  permit  me  first  to  take  a  seat. 
My  emotion  has  overpowered  me. " 

She  took  a  chair.  Andre  remained  standing,  with  his  arms  folded 
upon  his  breast. 

The  visitor  had  seated  herself  near  the  table  upon  which  Andre 
had  laid  the  pistol,  and  she  had  only  to  extend  her  hand  to  reach  it. 

**  In  the  first  place,  I  am  only  sixteen,"  she  began,  almost  gayly. 
**  It  would  certainly  be  very  unfortunate  if  I  should  bebave  im- 
properly at  my  age,  and  I  assure  you  that  1  have  no  desire  to  do  so. 
1  was  reared  much  better  than  many  ot  my  employer's  customers. 
My  parents  expected  to  marry  me  to  some  respectable  store-keeper. 
They  were  in  business  themselves,  and  had  they  lived,  I  should  not 
now  be  working  in  a  milliner's  shop." 

**  Ah!"  thought  Andre,  **  1  am  about  to  listen  again  to  the  pleas- 
ing fiction  all  grisettes  relato  to  gentlemen  to  prevent  them  from  be- 
lieving that  they  were  born  in  a  porter's  lodge." 

•'  But  untorlunately  my  father  was  ruined  by  a  man  who  betraj'^ed 
his  confidence,"  continued  the  girl,  *'  and  if  I  should  tell  you  how 
he  died — you  would  understand  the  horror  1  felt  when  1  saw  you 
with  this  revolver  in  your  hand." 

"  What,  did  he  kill  himself?" 

**  Y'es,  m  a  paroxysm  of  despair;  forgetting  that  he  might  retrieve 
his  losses  by  patient  industry,  and  that  he  would  leave  a  wite  in 
poverty.  My  poor  mother  died,  after  gtiuggling  along  six  months—" 

The  girl  paused.     Sobs  choked  her  ulterance. 

**  Calm  yourself,  mademoiselle,"  said  Andre,  at  last  touched  by 
this  sincere  grief,  and  stiuck  by  the  analogy  between  this  child's 
fate  and  his  own. 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,"  she  said,  dashing  away  tier  tears.  **  I  should 
not  give  way  to  my  grief  before  you  who  must  have  sorrow  enough 


BABIOLE,    TPiE    PllETTY    MILLIXEB.  29 

to  bear— 1  should,  on  the  contrary,  endeavor  make  you  forget  your 
troubles— but  whenever  I  think  of  my  mother,  ray  feelings  over- 
power me/* 

**  Tell  me  about  yourself." 

'•  So  be  it.  J  was  slill  at  boarding-school  when  I  lost  my  father. 
My  mother  was,  of  course,  obliged  to  take  me  away,  and  she  ap- 
prenticed me  to  a  milliner.  On  my  mother's  death  1  'was  left  alone 
in  the  world— no,  1  nad  an  uncle,  as  1  have  already  told  you,  my 
mother's  brother— but  he  was  poor,  having  only  his  salary  to  live 
upon — so  he  could  do  nothing  tor  me.  1,  too,  was  obliged  to  earn 
my  own  living,  which  I  have  done  ever  smce  by  working  as  a  milli- 
ner. 1  do  very  well,  tor  1  am  a  first-rate  one;  and  if  1  were  not  so 
young,  1  should  be  forewoman  at  Madame  Divet's,  for  that  is  the 
name  of  my  employer,  and  her  shop  is  on  the  Boulevard  Magenta. 
1  was  returning  from  there  when  you  met  me  this  evening." 

'*  It  must  be  very  unpleasant  to  have  to  return  home  alone  every 
evening,  and  to  incur  the  risk  of  being  annoyed  by  the  persecutions 
of  scoundrels  like  the  one  who  insulted  3^ou  to-night,"  said  Andre, 
interested  in  spite  of  himself  by  this  simple  tale. 

'*  Oh,  yes.  The  first  lime  1  was  so  frightened  that  I  ran  every 
step  of  the  way;  but  I  gradually  became  accustomed  to  it.  Now, 
if  any  man  attempts  to  enter  mto  conversation  wUh  me,  1  send  him 
about  his  business  pretty  tartly,  1  can  tell  you,  and  he  seldom  tries 
it  a  second  time.  1  expect  to  marry  by  and  by,  four  or  five  years 
hence,  if  1  find  anj^  kind-hearted,  sensible  young  man  who  wants 
me,  but  1  have  made  up  my  mind  to  keep  respectable,  and  1  have 
plenty  of  will  of  my  own." 

*'  That  is  certainly  a  very  sage  resolution;  but  you  will  be  exposed 
to  many  temptations,  1  am  afraid." 

*' Temptatons!  why,  1  have  none.  1  have  everything  I  want.  My 
poor  mother  left  me  a  little  furniture.  I  lease  a  small  apartment  here 
lor  three  hundred  francs,  and  as  I  receive  very  good  wages,  1  have 
no  ditticulty  about  paying  the  rent.  My  quarters  aie  not  as  spacious 
as  those  ot  Monsieur  Marbeuf,  but  if  you  ever  see  them  you  will 
admit  that  they  are  very  cozy,  and  even  pretty.  I  see  only  a  tiny  bit 
of  sky,  it  is  true,  but  1  have  my  flowers  and  birds,  nevertheless." 
"  That  is  something,  of  course;  still — " 

*'  Oh,  I  have  many  other  diversions.  Pleasant  Sundays,  Madame 
Divet  takes  me  with  her  to  the  Champs-Elysees,  and  she  occasion- 
ally trikes  me  to  the  theater.  One  of  her  oldest  customers  is  an 
actress  who  often  gives  her  tickets.  1  am  very  fond  of  the  theater. 
When  a  play  pleases  me,  I  buy  it,  and  amuse  myself  by  learning  it 
by  heart." 

'*  And  you  feel  no  desire  to  eo  on  the  stage?" 
**  No  more  than  I  do  to  enter  one  of  the  tine  carriages  1  see  pass- 
ing with  beautiful  ladies  in  them.     1  run  about  on  toot,  and  I  have 
no  handsome  dresses,  but  1  am  very  happy  for  all  that." 

Andre  positively  envied  the  contented  mind  of  the  young  ffirl  who 
accommodated  herself  so  uncomplainingly  to  her  cheerless  lot,  and 
who,  though  ruined  like  himself  by  her  father's  death,  had  never 
once  thought  of  puttin>>;  an  end  to  her  life. 

**  She  is  more  courageous  than  1  am,"  he  thought  bitterly.  *'  It 
is  true  that  she  has  not  stolen,  though." 


00  BABIOLE,    THE    PKETTY    MILLINER. 

And  for  the  first  time  since  their  meeting  in  the  street,  he  looked 
at  her  attentively. 

She  was  not  pretty,  in  the  ordinary  acceptation  of  the  term.  Her 
t'oreliead  was  a  trifle  too  low;  the  nose  was  not  of  the  Grecian  type. 
The  lips  were  rather  too  full,  and  the  chin  too  prominent.  But 
what  a  complexion,  and  what  eyes!  What  teeth,  too!  A  pink  and 
white  complexion,  lustrous  brown  eyes,  sparkling  with  intelligence, 
and  small  even  white  teeth  of  dazzling  brilliancy.  And  this  attract- 
ive visage  was  framed  in  a  mass  of  clieslnut  hair  that  curled  natu- 
rally. 

The  smile  that  played  upon  the  lips  was  gay  and  kind;  the  ex- 
pression of  the  eyes  fiankness  itself*.  It  was  a  speaking  face,  and 
gazing  at  it,  one  instinctively  felt  that  no  evil  thought  had  ever 
marred  its  natural  expression,  which  was  both  genial  and  laughing, 
without  a  shade  of  coquetry. 

**  You  know,  sir,  that  wealth  is  not  happiness,"  she  resumed, 
'*  and  that  one  must  not  despair.  I  might  have  killed  myself  like 
many  others,  but  1  preferred  to  live;  and  I  am  succeeding  wonder- 
fully well.     Is  not  my  example  worthy  to  be  followed?" 

*'  Yes,"  murmured  the  young  man,  "  when  one  is  only  in  financial 
troul>le,  suicide  is  cowardice." 

**  Then  yours,  1  suppose,  are  troubles  of  the  heart, "  said  his  neigh- 
bor, laughing.     "  Pshaw!  they  are  not  worth  killing  one's  self  for. 

1  can  epeak  only  from  liearsay,  however,  for  1  have  had  no  experi- 
ence in  such  matters:  but  I  nursed  one  of  my  acquaintances  who 
had  taken  laudanum  because  a  young  man  had  left  her  after  promis- 
ing to  marry  hei.  She  did  not  die,  and  she  solemnlj*  promised  mo 
not  to  repeat  tlie  attempt,  for  she  found  that  the  scamp  had  long 
been  playing  her  false  with  one  of  her  friends." 

"  Do  you  thmk  there  are  no  other  troubles  but  troubles  of  the 
heart?" 

*'  Whv  shouldn't  you  tell  me  yours?  Because  you  do  not  know 
me?  That  is  true,  you  do  not  even  know  my  name.  1  forgot  to  tell 
it  you.  It  is  Elizabeth  Babois— not  a  very  pretty  or  euphonious  name, 
Beth — Ba.  It  is  verv  hard  to  pronounce,  so  every  one  calls  me 
Babiole,  and  1  am  so  accustomed  to  it,  that  now  1  almost  think  it  is 
my  name. 

"  Well,  sir.  Mademoiselle  Babiole  begs  you  to  confide  your  sor- 
rows to  her.  It  is  very  audacious  in  her,  perhaps;  but  she  knows 
that  it  is  a  comfort  to  tell  one's  difficulties  to  a  friend.  If  1  were  in 
trouble,  I  would  tell  you,  and  ask  your  advice  before  taking  any 
desperate  step." 

*'  My  mind  is  already  made  up,"  said  Andre,  gloomily. 

**  Then  you  admit  that  you  are  meditating  self-destruction,"  ex- 
claimed Babiole.     **  You  certainly  can  have  no  mother,  then?" 

Andre  turned  pale.  His  mother!  He  had  forgotten  her,  for  he 
had  been  on  the  point  of  blowing  his  brains  out,  without  writing  to 
her,  or  asking  her  forgiveness  for  leaving  her  alone  in  the  world. 

"  If  you  still  have  a  mother,  you  surely  cannot  think  of  killing 
yourself,"  continued  Babiole. 

**  I  have  a  mother,  but  not  in  this  city,"  was  the  reply,  **  She  re- 
sides in  the  provinces." 

"  Then  you  are  herein  Paris  only  temporarily?" 


babiole;  the  pketty  millixer.  31 

*^  1  have  come  to  stay,"  replied  Andre,  evasively. 
•*  Will  your  mother  come  to  live  with  you?" 
•*1  think  not." 

*'  Ah,  it  1  had  a  mother  1  could  never  make  up  my  mind  to  leave 
her.  But  you,  doubtless,  have  your  reasons  for  residing  at  a  dis- 
tance trojQ  her — you  have,  perhaps,  found  a  situation  in  Paris,  and 
your  mother  prefers  the  country.  1  am  like  her.  1  w^ould  much 
prefer  running  about  the  fields  to  sitting  cooped  up  in  the  work- 
shop all  day." 
'*  Tiiai  is  only  natural  at  your  age."  - 

**  Oh,  it  1  were  thirty,  it  w^ouUi  be  just  the  same.     1  like  the  open 
air  and  exercise.     Will  you  continue  to  share  Monsieur  Marbeuf 's 
[  rooms?    The  aparlment  is  rather  small  for  two  persons." 

*'  Much  too  small,"  answered  Andre,  who  was  beginning  to  grow 
impatient. 
Babiole  perceived  it,  and  said : 

*'  1  beg  your  pardon,  sir.  1  forget  that  you  are  in  no  mood  to  dis- 
cuss such  trifles.  It  is  all  the  fault  of  my  temperament,  1  cannot 
remain  serious  for  any  length  of  time.  Madame  Divet  often  scolds 
me  for  chattering  thoughtlessly  w^hen  1  ought  to  weigh  my  words. 

**  ;Now  you  pretend  that  you  are  not  thinking  of  suicide,  but  1  see 
very  plainly  that  you  have  told  nie  so  only  to  get  rid  of  me.  You 
will  not  succeed,  however,  unless  you  consent  to  let  me  take  this 
revolver  away  with  me." 

**  I  cannot  do  that,  mademoiselle.     It  does  not  belong  to  me." 
"It  belongs  to  Monsieur  Marbeuf.     1  am  aware  of  that.     But  1 
shal  not  keep  it,  for  1  have  not  the  slightest  desire  to  use  it.     1  will 
return  it  to  its  rightful  owner  to-morrow." 

"  Do  you  think  I  can  find  no  other  way  of  destroying  myself,  if 
1  wish  to  do  so?" 

"  No,  and,  unfortunately  1  shall  not  always  be  here  to  watch  you; 
but  youi  friend  will  soon- return,  and  when  he  is  with  you  1  shall 
feel  less  anxious.  It  is  solitude  that  puts  such  horrible  ideas  into 
your  head." 

•'  1  am  expecting  Louis,  it  is  true,"  said  Andre,  *'  and  it  surprises 
me  that  he  has  not  return(d  before  this." 

*'  Is  that  why  you  were  w^atching  the  clock?" 
**  Yes,  he  promised  me  to  be  here  before  midnight." 
"  And  because  he  is  a  few  minutes  late  you  want  to  shoot  j^our- 
sell!  Did  any  one  ever  hear  of  such  tolly?  In  ttie  first  place  you 
are  not  familiar  with  his  habits,  as  you  arrived  only  this  morning. 
1  know  them,  though  we  are  not  even  on  speaking  terms,  lie 
scarcely  bows  to  me,  in  fact,  when  we  meet  on  the  stairs.  But  my 
window  is  directly  opposite  his,  and  1  never  see  a  liirht  here  before 
one  o'clocl^  in  the  morning.  He  spends  all  his  evenings  at  some 
cafe.*' 

"But  he  is  not  spending  this  one  there,  I  am  sure,"  muttered 
Andre,  shaking  his  head  despondently. 

*'  Then  you  know  where  he  is.  Yet  another  reason  w^hy  you 
should  feel  no  uneasiness.  He  promised  to  return,  and  he  has^not 
been  punctual;  but  even  if  he  does  stay  out  all  night,  j^ou  must 
admit  that  tjiis  is  qo  sugiciem  reason  for  putting  an  end  to  your  life. 


32  BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLINER. 

Confess  that  there  is  something  else.  Has  Monsieur  Marbeuf  gone 
to  do  something  upon  which  the  success  of  jour  future  depends?" 

Andre  could  not  repress  a  start  of  surprise.  This  child  had  di- 
vined the  truth,  and  he  was  astonished  at  her  sagacity. 

*'  1  see  by  your  face  that  1  have  discovered  the  cause  of  your 
gloomy  resolve,"  she  continued.  "  You  fancy  that  he  dares  not  re- 
turn, because  he  has  failed.  That  is  not  a  sensible  conclusion,  by 
any  means.  Don't  you  know  the  proverb:  *  JNo  news  is  good  news '?" 

Andre  shook  his  head  sadly. 

*'  In  any  case,  j^ou  would  risk  nothing  by  wailing.  He  will  have 
to  return  eventually;  and  it  will  be  time  enough  for  3^ou  to  blow 
your  brains  out  when  you  learn  that  you  have  nothing  more  to  hope 
for.  Recollect  that  you  will,  perhaps,  hear  that  the  matter  about 
which  you  feel  so  anxious  is  satisfactorily  arranged." 

This  argument  made  an  impression  upon  Andre.  At  the  age  of 
twenty-five  one  does  not  take  one's  leave  of  life  wi'hout  regret,  and 
he  felt  that  in  the  other  world  he  might  regret  having  been  too  anx- 
ious to  leave  this. 

"  Ah!  1  have  succeeded  in  convincing  you,  1  see  that.  You  have 
a  face  that  betrays  your  every  thought.  Now,  tnere  only  remains 
for  you  to  solemnly  promise  me  that  you  will  postpone  until  to-mor- 
row the  execution  of  your  frightful  project.  When  you  have 
taken  the  required  oath,  1  will  go  not  to  return  again  until  after 
daybreak." 

"  So  be  it.     1  give  you  my  w^ord  of — " 

*'  That  is  not  enough.     Swear  by  the  life  of  your  mother!" 

Andre  had  decided  to  wait  until  the  morrow,  and  yet  he  hesitated 
to  give  an  oath  to  that  effect.  He  was  annoyed,  and  even  ashamed 
that  he  had  allowed  himself  to  be  thus  influenced  by  Mile.  Babi- 
ole,  a  grwette,  who  had  meddled  in  the  most  inexcusable  manner 
with  his  affairs. 

Andre  had  not  yet  cast  oft  the  prejudices  of  a  provincial  man  of 
fashion.  He  classified  women  according  to  their  toilets,  and  was 
greatly  astonished  to  find  that  a  poor  girl  of  plebeian  origin  possessed 
both  heart  and  intelligence. 

"  1  do  not  believe  in  taking  rash  oaths,"  he  murmured. 

'•  But  1  do  in  the  present  instance,"  retorted  Babiole,  *'  because  I 
know  that  you  would  not  dare  to  break  it.  If  you  refuse  to  do  woat 
1  ask,  1  assure  you  that  1  shall  not  stir  from  here,  and  you  will  not 
try  to  turn  me  out  by  force,  I  hope." 

**  I  swear,  then,"  said  Andre,  his  patience  nearly  exhausted. 

**  That  is  well.  My  mind  is  easy  now\  Good-night,  neighbor, 
and  aurevoir.  1  must  be  at  the  shop  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
so  I  will  drop  in  to  see  you  about  eight.  I  hope  1  shall  find  you 
cured  of  the  blues,  and  Monsieur  Marbeuf  returned  with  good  news 
for  you.  I'm  going  now,  and  1  leave  the  revolver  i;«ith  you.  1 
trust  you,  you  see." 

As  she  spoke,  the  girl  rose,  offered  him  her  hand,  after  the  En- 
glish fashion,  and  then  hastened  from  the  room. 

Andre,  left  alone,  soon  relapsed  into  a  state  of  cruel  perplexity. 
He  was  obliged  to  admit  that  Babiole's  advice  was  excellent,  and 
that  he  had  done  well  to  follow  it:  but  his  situation  had  not  changed 
for  the  better.  It  was  growing  even  worse  from  moment  to  moment. 


BABIOLE,   THE    PKETTY    MILLINER,  33 

Again  the  cuckoo  uttered  his  hoarse  cry,  and  still  Marbeuf  did  not 
come. 

His  absence  seemed  inexplicable. 

Andre  racked  his  brain  to  devise  excuses  for  it  without  finding  a 
single  one  that  was  satisfactory.  The  most  plausible  was  the  one 
that  had  first  occurred  to  him  when  he  woke. 

M.  Yernelle  might  not  have  been  at  home,  and  Marbeuf  was 
waiting  for  his  return. 

But  even  if  he  had  dined  out,  or  escorted  his  daughter  to  the  the- 
ater, tlie  banker  would  have  returned  home  by  one  o'clock  in  the 
morning. 

"  Unless  he  has  taken  her  to  some  great  ball,"  thought  the  young 
man,  unconsciously  clinging  to  the  last  hope.  "  And  yet  one  does 
not  go  to  a  ball  before  ten  o'clock,  and  Marbeuf  left  me  at  half-past 
eight,  and  the  Rue  Bergere  is  not  more  than  ten  minutes'  walk  from 
the  restaurant  where  we  dined,  so  he  must  have  reached  there  before 
that  time,  and  had  he  tailed  in  his  efforts  he  would  have  returned  to 
tell  me  and  consult  me. 

•'  He  is  incapable  of  appropriating  the  money,  hence  he  must  be 
dead.  He  has  been  killed  and  robbed,  or  else  run  over  by  a  car- 
riage, and  in  either  case  the  money  has  not  been  restored,  conse- 
quently 1  am  lost. 

**  1  will  wait  until  eight  o'clock,  as  1  promised;  then,  or  as  soon 
as  this  worthy  youns:  girl,  who  has  interested  herself  in  my  welfare, 
takes  herself  off,  I  will  put  an  end  .to  my  life." 

Andre  spent  the  rest  of  this  terrible  night  in  wandering  about  his 
friend's  rooms,  listening  attentively  to  the  sounds  in  the  street 
without— sounds  which  gradually  grew  fainter  and  fainter,  and  soon 
ceased  entirely. 

Each  time  the  house-door  opened  to  admit  some  belated  inmate, 
he  went  out  upon  the  landing  to  see  if  be  could  recognize  Marbeuf 's 
heavy  step,  and  each  time  he  met  with  a  fresh  disappointment. 

After  about  six  hours  of  this  suspense,  dawn  appeared — the  dawn 
of  a  gloomy,  cloudy  winter's  day.  Drays  began  to  move  briskly  to 
and  fro,  doors  to  open  and  shut,  and  porters  to  put  the  halls  in  or- 
der tor  the  day. 

A  cold  fog  crept  into  the  room  through  the  windows,  and  chilled 
Andre  to  the  very  marrow  of  his  bones;  nevertheless,  his  resolution 
remained  unshaken. 

There  was  now  barely  time  to  write  to  his  mother  before  the  ar- 
rival ot  Babiole,  and  to  pen  a  few  words  of  farewell  for  his  friend, 
in  case  he  should  return. 

lie  accordingly  seated  himself  at  the  table  where  the  revolver  was 
still  lying,  and  began  the  letter  to  Marbeuf,  feeling  that  it  would  be 
the  shorter,  as  well  as  the  least  difticult  to  write. 

So  he  took  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  wrote  with  a  firm  hand : 

••  My  dear  Louis,-— 1  do  not  blame  you.  You  tried  to  save  me, 
but  could  not.  1  gave  myself  a  respite;  it  has  just  expired.  I  have 
condemned  myself,  and  1  am  about  to  carry  the  sentence  into  exe- 
cution. 1  will  not  live  dishonored,  I  must  die,  since  1  have  stolen— 
yes,  stolen,  whatever  you  may  say  to  the  contrary." 

Engrossed  in  his  writing,  he  saw  and  heard  nothing  that  was  pa§3* 


34  BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLINER. 

ing  around  him,  but  suddenly  a  hand  was  laid  on  his  shoulder,  and 
springing  up,  he  tound  himself  tace  to  face  with  a  gentleman  whom 
he  did  not  at  first  recognize.  j 

*'  Who  are  you?"  he  exclaimed,  I 

The  stranger,  before  replying,  took  possession  ot  the  revolver  an( 
the  unfinished  letter,  put  them  bolh  in  his  pocket,  with  an  assui 
ance  that  was  truly  wonderful;  then  took  a  seat  as  coolly  as  it  h 
were  in  his  own  house,  and  said: 

"  1  am  tired  out.  Your  stairs  are  terribly  steep,  and  I  mountec 
them  three  at  a  time.  It  seems  that  1  had  not  a  moment  to  lose,  as 
thought." 

Andre  did  not  repeat  his  question,  for  a  moment's  scrutiny  ha 
enabled  him  to  recognize  in  the  unexpected  visitor  the  man  who  ha 
dined  near  him  and  Marbeuf  at  the  restaurant,  the  evening  before 
and  whom  Andre  had  previously  seen  in  the  banker's  office.  It  wa 
M.  Vernelle's  cashier. 

**  He  has  come  to  have  me  arrested,"  thought  Andre,  **  and  it  i 
to  prevent  me  from  killing  myself  that  he  has  taken  possession  c 
the  oistol.  But  the  window  remains,  and  I  will  not  be  capture( 
alive." 

**  1  have  had  no  end  of  trouble  in  discovering  your  abode,"  con 
tinued  this  singular  visitor.  '*  1  have  been  looking  lor  you  twelv 
hours  or  more,  but  it  was  not  until  this  morning  that  1  obtained  th 
necessary  directions  tor  finding  you." 

'*  Pardon  me,  sir,  I  cannot  imagine  what  you  have  to  iSay  to  me 
and  1 — " 

**  Y'ou  must  suspect,  however,  for  this  is  not  the  first  time  yo 
have  seen  me." 

**  1  recollect  to  have  seen  you  yesti^jrday  in  Monsieur  Vernelle' 
private  office. " 

*'  And  somewhere  else,  as  well.     "We  were  near  neighbors  in  a 
staurant  where  1  occasionally  take  my  meals.     But  you  were  nc 
alone  at  the  time,  unfortunately,  so  1  could  not  speak  to  you. 

"  1  intended  to  follow  j^ou,  in  order  to  ascertain  where  you  livec 
and  1  waited  for  you  on  the  Hue  Lafayette.  Your  friend  left  yc 
at  the  door  of  the  restaurant,  and  I  fully  intended  to  take  advantaj 
of  the  opportunity  to  accost  you,  but  just  as  you  started  off  in  oi 
direction,  and  he  in  another,  1  was  stopped  by  a  crowd  of  carria, 
and  lost  sight  of  you. 

*'  Still  I  was  not  discouraged.  1  knew  your  friend's  name,  an 
1  felt  sure  that  you  had  gone  straight  to  his  house  on  your  arriv 
from  Havre.  1  also  knew  that  he  was  in  the  employ  of  Messr 
Pivot  and  Garnier,  on  the  Rue  Sentier,  so  1  hastened  there  to  i 
quire  his  address,  but  found  only  an  errand-boy  who  could  not  gil 
me  the  desired  information.  | 

**  This  morning,  at  six  o'clock,  I  rang  at  the  door  of  these  gent] 
men,  who  must  have  taken  me  for  a  madman,  but  who  finally  t 
me  that  their  clerk,  Marbeuf,  lived  on  the  Rue  Lamartine.  1  tool 
carriage;  the  portress  told  me  that  Marbeuf 's  rooms  were  on  tl 
fourth  tloor;  the  key  was  in  the  lock,  so  I  opened  the  door  softl; 
and  here  I  am!" 

Andre  had  listened  with  wonder  to  this  strange  explanation  whii 
certainly  made  him  none  the  wiser. 


BABIOLE,    THE    PllETTY    MILLINER.  35 

'*  It  was  well  that  1  made  baste,"  continued  the  cashier.    "  Had  I 

delayed  even  ten  minutes  longer,  I  should  have  been  too  late,  1  fear." 

•*  I  don't  understand  j^ou,"  stammered  poor  Andre. 

**  Oh,  you  need  not  hope  to  make  me  belie 7e  that  it  was  only  hy 

chance  that  revolver  came  to  be  on  tne  table,  and  that  what  you 

were  writing  was  not  a  tarewell  letter  to  your  mother." 

And,  as  xCndre  hung  his  head,  in  silent  consternation,  the  visitor 
continued: 

**  This  contemplated  suicide  was  a  most  senseless  and  absurd  thing. 
Death  repairs  nothing,  and  when  one  has  committed  a  fault,  a  great 
fault,  one  must  repair  it,  especially  when  one  hundred  thousand 
francs  are  involved.  That  is  a  large  amount,  even  to  Monsieur  Ver- 
nelle,  and  when  one  has  taken  it,  one  must  begin  by  making  restitu- 
tion. After  that  one  has  a  right  to  blow  one's  brains  out,  but  not 
betore.  Oh,  attempt  no  denial.  I  saw  yor  take  the  money." 
*'  You  saw  me!"  exclaimed  xAndie,  wiIdl3^ 

**  Yes.  There  is  a  small  sliding  window  between  my  office  and 
that  of  my  employer,  and  this  window  was  partially  open  at  the  time. 
When  Monsieur  Vernelle  left  you  alone  in  the  room,  1  had  curios- 
ity enough  to  glance  in  to  see  what  you  were  doing — " 

**  And  you  did  not  at  once  denounce  me  to  to  your  employer?" 
*'  No,  indeed;  1  wish  to  avoid  that  unpleasant  task,  if  possible." 
*' Why?" 

'*  1  am  not  obliged  to  give  my  reasons;  still,  1  have  no  objections 
to  telling  you  that  1  feel  a  sincere  compassion  for  you,  not  only  on 
account  of  the  recent  misfortunes  that  have  befallen  j^ou,  but  on 
account  of  my  respect  and  reverence  for  the  memory  of  your  father 
whom  I  knew  well." 
*'  You,  sir?" 

**  Yes.  I  -have  been  in  Monsieur  Vernellc's  employ  a  long  time, 
and  am,  consequently,  aware  of  the  service  Monsieur  Subligny  ren- 
dered him  in  j^ears  gone;  and  in  aiding  my  employer,  your  father 
killed  two  birds  with  one  stone,  tor  I  should  have  been  thrown  out 
of  employment,  and  reduced  to  penury,  had  Monsitur  Vernelle 
failed,  as  he  certainly  would  have  done  but  for  your  lamented  fa- 
ther's assistance." 

This  unexpected  announcement  gave  Andre  a  gleam  of  hope, 
though  but  a  feeble  gleam,  for,  by  reason  of  Marbeuf 's  strange  dis- 
appearance, he  could  no  longer  restore  the  muney. 

**But,  now  1  think  of  it,  1  have  not  yet  told  you  my  name," 
continued  the  cashier.  "It  is  Chautepie.  Jules  Chautepie,  and  we 
may  call  ourselves  compatriots,  tor  Havre  was  your  birthplace,  and 
Kouen  mine.  Between  Normans  there  is  necessarily  a  strong  syra-  ' 
pathy,  and  I  should  never  cease  to  reproach  myself  if  1  ruined  a 
promising  young  man's  future,  because  he  was  guilty  of  a  moment's 
weakness.  1  legret  even  less  acting  as  I  have,  now  that  1  find  you 
in  the  midst  of  your  preparations  for  self-destruction;  for  if  you 
were  not  honest  at  heart,  you  would  have  crossed  the  Channel  be- 
fore this." 

**  I  thank  you  for  having  judged  me  aright.  If  you  but  knew!  ]t 
was  the  merest  accident  that  caused  my  luin.  I  had  not  the  slight- 
^est  intention  oi  keeping  the  bank-notes.     I  did  very  wrong  to  touch 


d6  BABIOLE,   THE    PEETTY    MILLIJSTBR. 

them.   Monsieur  Vernelle  came  in  suddenly,  and  I  had  not  time  to 
replace  the  package  on  the  table." 

**  So  you  involuntarily  slipped  it  into  your  pocKet.  This  is  an  ex- 
planation 1  should  not  recummend  you  to  give  to  a  magistrate,  if 
questioned.  But  the  matter  will  not  go  so  tar:  it  will  remain  be- 
tween you  and  me.  You  have  repented  of  the  act,  and  that  is 
enough  for  me.  Still,  that  is  not  a  sufficient  reparation,  and  1  am 
surprised  that  you  have  not  sent  the  money  back." 

"  That  was  the  first  idea  that  occurred  to  me  after  leaving  Mon- 
sieur Vernelle's  office." 

"  You  did  not  carry  it  into  execution,  however." 

"1  beg  your  pardon.  X  did  not  have  the  courage  to  take  the 
money  back  mj^self— 1  should  have  died  of  shame— but  Marbeuf  de- 
vised a  way  to  save  me.  His  plan  was  tor  him  to  go  to  Monsieur 
Vernelle  and  tell  him  that  having  found  a  package  of  bank-notes  in 
the  court-yard  of  the  house,  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  one 
of  the  clerks  must  have  dropped  it  there." 

*•  Not  a  bad  scheme  that,  for  you;  but  not  equally  good  for  me. 
It  would  have  cost  me  my  place.  One  does  not  keep  a  cashier  who 
makes  a  mistake  of  one  hundred  thousand  francs  in  counting  eight 
hundred  thousand. 

*'  But  when  and  where,  if  you  please,  was  this  act  of  restitution 
to  be  performed?" 

**  Last  evening,  I  gave  the  money  to  Marbeuf  while  we  were  at 
dinner,  and  he  was  to  go  straight  to  Monsieur  Vernelle's  on  leaving 
me." 

**  He  would  not  have  found  him.  Monsieur  Vernelle  engaged  a 
box  for  last  evening,  at  the  Renaissance,  where  a  new  play  was  to 
be  performed  for  the  first  time,  and  as  his  daughter  is  always  anx- 
ious to  see  the  beginning  of  the  piece,  he  must  have  left  home  very 
early." 

*'  But  he  must  have  returned  home  after  the  performance." 

**  Of  course;  he  is  not  in  the  habit  of  staying  out  all  night.  Your 
friend  had  only  to  wait  for  him." 

*•  Perhaps  he  did  so;  1  do  not  know." 

"  You  have  not  seen  him  since  then?" 

"  No,  sir.  1  waited  for  him  in  vain  all  night,  and  as  he  has  not 
returned,  1  can  but  think  that  some  misfortune  has  befallen  him. 
He  has  been  robbed,  or  even  murdered,  perhaps." 

**  You  believe  that!"  sneered  M.  Chautepie,  '*  you  certainly  are 
an  artless  youth.  Y'ou  have  proved  it  conclusively  by  intrusting 
such  an  amount  to  a  penniless  youth.  Your  Marbeuf  probably  took 
the  first  train  for  the  north,  and  is  in  England  or  Belgium  by  this  ^ 
time.  He  has  no  reason  to  fear  the  extradition  treaty  either,  as  he  ' 
stole  nothing  from  Monsieur  Vernelle,  and  you  will  not  be  likely  to 
enter  a  complaint  against  him." 

*'  Marbeuf  has  not  left  the  country.    Marbeuf  is  an  honest  man." 

*'  flow  do  you  know?" 

*'  He  has  been  my  friend  from  childhood.  He  was  my  chum  at 
college-^" 

*'  A  great  reason,  that.  Do  you  know  what  he  has  been  doing 
pinceT' 

<'  He  has  been  acting  as  clerk  in  a  business  house." 


BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLINEK.  3? 

*'  Where  he  doea  not  bear  a  very  enviable  reputation.  1  have  made 
inquiries  concerning  him,  and  find  that  he  is  held  in  only  moderate 
esteem  by  his  employers. 

*•  It  matters  little,  however,  whether  he  has  or  has  not  fled  to 
some  foreign  land,  tor  no  one  will  believe  the  story  you  have  just 
related  to  me.  You  alone  are  responsible  for  Monsieur  Vernelle's 
loss." 

"  1  know  it,"  replied  Andre,  **  and  it  is  for  that  very  reason  1  wish 
to  put  an  end  to  my  life.  Why  do  you  interfere?  What  is  your 
motive  in  coming  here?  To  denounce  me?  Very  well,  go  for  the 
commissioner  of  police  if  you  like.  FJe  will  not  find  me  alive — but 
spare  me  useless  reproaches,  and  relieve  me  of  your  presence." 

]VI,  Chautepie  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  he  said,  gently: 

*'  Do  you  not  understand  that  1  am  come  to  save  you?" 

**  To  save  me?    You!"  exclaimed  Subligny. 

*'  Yes,"  replied  Chautepie,  tranquilly.  ""Does  this  surprise  you?" 

"  Greatly,  1  must  confess." 

**  Why?  1  am  under  obligations  to  your  father,  for  if  he  had  not 
come  to  my  employer's  assistance,  the  house  would  have  been 
obliged  to  suspend,  and  J.  should  have  lost  my  situation.  The  serv- 
ice he  indirectly  rendered  me  is  not  of  a  recent  date,  it  is  true,  but 
1  have  not  forgotten  it,  and  it  is  only  natural  that  1  should  desire  to 
repay  the  debt  of  gratitude." 

*'  Excuse  me,  sir,  but  1  thought — " 

*'  You  thought  tnat  1  was  sent  by  Monsieur  Vernelle,  and  that  I 
came  to  seize  you  by  th(i  collar  and  drag  you  to  the  nearest  station- 
house.  You  do  not  know  me.  1  am  not  lenient  to  unfaithful  or 
even  careless  clerks,  but  1  claim  to  be  a  just  man,  and  1  do  not  con- 
found a  slight  delinquency  with  a.  theft,  nor  an  honest  man  with  a 
scoundrel.  There  are  crimes  for  which  1  have  no  mercy,  and  faults 
which  i  readily  pardon." 

"  Then  you  think  that  1  told  you  the  truth  and  that  1  had  no 
intention  of  taking  the  money?" 

**  Yes.  1  witnessed  the  whole  aftair,  as  I  told  you  once  before, 
and  1  noticed  the  movement  of  surprise  which  proved  so  unfortunate 
in  its  consequences.  You  showed  a  want  of  presence  of  mind,  that 
is  all." 

••But  Monsieur  Vernelle  can  never  be  made  to  believe  that,  and 
as  Monsieur  Vernelle  must  have  discovered  that  one  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  were  missiug  immediately  after  my  depart uie,  he  must 
know  that  1  took  it.  1  am  none  the  less  grateful  to  you  for  your 
kind  intentions,  however,  and  it  will  be  some  consolation  to  me  in 
my  dying  moments  to  know  that  1  have  not  lost  your  esteem." 
^  •'  Don't  talk  any  more  about  dying,  my  dear  Andre.  You  will 
live  to  be  an  old  man,  and  1  would  gladly  exchange  my  prospects 
lor  yours." 

*•  1  will  not  live  dishonored!" 

**  There  you  are  again!  How  absurdly  you  talk!  You  are  not  In 
the  least  dishonored.  My  employer  thinks  you  a  most  deserving 
and  honorable  young  man,  for  he  has  not  the  slightest  suspicion 
that  the  money  was  ever  in  your  pocket,  or  that  it  is  even  missing." 

'*  What!    Why  the  money  was  to  he  drawn  at  six  o'clock." 

*'  Y'es,  by  a  man  named  Bertand.     Well,  while  you  were  in  the 


3S  BABIOLE,    THE     PRETTY    MTLLIXEn. 

ollice,  that  gentleman  called  to  say  that  he  would  not  draw  the 
iiioney  until  the  following  day.  It  was  to  see  him  that  Monsieur 
Vernelle  left  you  a  moment,  and  it  was  arranged  between  them  that 
the  money  should  be  kept  all  nfffht  in  my  safe.  You  had  no  sooner 
fj:one  out  than  Monsieur  Vernelle,  alter  casting  a  hasty  glance  at 
his  watch,  called  to  me  through  the  wmdow,  and  handed  me  the 
package  of  money  which  1  immediately  locked  up  in  my  safe.  The 
whole  operation  took  barely  a  minute,  as  I  overtook  j^ou  on  the  stair- 
case. It  is  true  that  1  did  not  go  through  the  form  of  counting  the 
money,  as  1  knew  very  well  how  much  was  missing  and  where  it 
was." 

"And  instead  of  arresting  me,  j^ou  allowed  me  to  go  my  M^ay 
unmolested?" 

"  Yes,  and  1  will  now  tell  you  why.  In  the  first  place,  1  had  just 
learned  that  you  were  the  son  of  Monsieur  Subligny,  and  nothing  in 
the  world  could  have  induced  me  to  denounce  you,  knowing  that. 
Then,  too,  I  pride  myself  upon  being  somethinjc  of  a  physiognomist; 
and  after  seeing  you,  1  was  satisfied  that  you  would  return  the 
money.  1  wanted  to  test  you,  to  leave  you  free  to  act.  1  said  to  my- 
self: *  The  night  brings  counsel;'  besides,  1  intended  to  have  a  talk 
with  you  on  the  first  opportunity. 

"  But,  unfortunately,  1  lost  track  of  you  at  the  restaurant  door, 
and  i  came  very  near  not  finding  you  again;  but  even  if  1  had  not 
succeeded,  my  mind  was  made  up.  I  should  have  saved  you  even 
then." 

**  But  how?" 

**  1  should  have  paid  over  the  eight  hundred  thousand  francs  to 
Bertand  this  morning.  The  c;ontents  of  the  safe  are  not  examined 
and  veiitied  every  day,  and  1  felt  sure  that  I  should  succeed  in  find- 
ing you,  and  that  you  would  restore  the  money  eventually. 

**  Tlie  idea  of  your  committing  suicide  never  once  occurred  to 
me,  nor  did  1  foresee  that  you  would  think  of  such  a  thing  as  con- 
fiding the  money  to  an  untrustworthy  intermediary." 

'*  Marbeuf  has  not  stolen  the  money.  Marbeuf  is  dead  or  else  he 
has  been  robbed," 

*'  Which  amounts  to  about  the  same  thing,  for  the  money  is  irre- 
trievably lost." 

**  And  you  will  be  compelled  to  divulge  the  fact." 

**  Never." 

"  But,  sir,  if  you  are  silent,  the  loss  will  be  discovered  the  first 
time  the  safe  is  examined,  and  you  will  be  accused  of  appropriating 
the  money.  1  would  rather  die  than  allow  an  innocent  man  to  be 
suspected." 

**  1  don't  doubt  that  in  the  least,  but  no  one  will  be  suspected.  I 
have  taken  my  precautions." 

**  ] — 1  don't  understand  you." 

**  The  explanation  is  very  simple.  1  shall  make  up  the  deficiency 
out  of  my  own  pocket." 

**  You,  sir?" 

"  Yes,  and  to  prove  the  truth  of  my  words,  1  will  show  you  that 
1  have  the  package  all  ready,"  said  the  cashier,  pulling  half  way  out 
of  his  pocket  a  package  of  notes  exactly  like  that  which  Andre  had 
taken. 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLIKER.  39 

'*  This  is  really  too  kind!"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  moved  to 
tears.     **  1  will  not  allow  you  to  make  such  a  sacrifice  for  me." 

•*  The  sacrifice  will  not  ruin  me.  It  would  be  hard  it  1  had  not 
succeeded  in  laying  by  a  little  money  during  the  twenty  years  I 
have  been  at  work.  I  am  not  rich,  but  1  am  in  very  comfortable  cir- 
cumstances. Besides,  1  have  no  intention  ot  maRing  you  a  present 
of  the  amount.  You  would  refuse  to  accept  such  a  gitt,  nor  would 
my  means  permit  it.     1  only  loan  it  to  you." 

"*'  1  shall  never  be  able  to  repay  the  loan." 

*'  Nonsense!  you  will  repay  it  in  less  than  a  year." 

And  noting  the  young  man's  air  of  astonishment,  Chautepie  added: 

'*  My  dear  fellow,  you  seem  to  be  ignorant  of  your  real  value. 
The  physical  and  intellectual  endowments  you  possess  constitute  a 
very  handsome  capital.  You  will  only  have  to  learn  to  make  good 
use  of  them,  and  that  knowledge  will  be  speedily  acquired." 

Andre  blushed.  Marbeuf,  only  the  evening  before,  had  uttered 
similar  words  of  encouragement,  but  these  sounded  strangely  out  of 
place  in  the  mouth  of  M.  Vernelle's  cashier. 

I  '  *  Oh,  you  need  not  take  offense, ' '  continued  his  benefactor.  *  *  You 
will  have  to  resort  to  no  unscrupulous  means  to  make  your  way  in 
the  world.  You  will  only  have  to  follow  the  promptings  of  your 
own  heart,  for  1  suppose  Mademoiselle  Clemence  does  not  appear 
unattractive  to  you." 

**  Mademoiselle  Yernelle  is  very  charming,  but  I  do  not  see—" 

"  You  do  not  see  that  she  loves  you  already.  Well,  1  do.  After 
your  departure,  she  spoke  of  you  in  terms  which  1  will  not  repeat 
for  fear  of  offending  your  modesty.  1  know  her,  and  1  am  sure  of 
what  1  tell  you.  Vernelle,  who  sees  only  through  his  daughter's 
eyes,  has  a  very  high  opinion  ot  you,  ana  when  he  comes  to  know 
you  better,  he  will  be  even  more  kindly  disposed  toward  you. 

**  For  this  reason,  1  do  not  hesitate  to  predict  that  you  will  be  my 
employer's  partner  and  son -in- law  by  next  year,  ^f  you  choose,  and 
consequently  my  employer,  for  1  hope  you  will  not  dismiss  me 
when  you  become  the  head  of  the  house,"  concluded  M.  Chautepie, 
smiling. 

'*  Should  this  dream  ever  be  realized,  ]  could  not  do  enough  to 
show  my  gratitude,"  replied  Andre,  promptly. 

•'  1  am  sure  of  that;  and  the  service  1  render  you  is  consequently 
not  as  meritorious  as  it  seems  to  be.  It  will  prove  a  very  profitable 
investment  for  me,  1  do  not  doubt." 

'*  But  a  very  risky  one." 

**  On  the  contrary,  a  very  safe  one.  I  run  no  risk  whatever,  for  I 
shall  request  you  to  give  me  a  note  for  the  amount  1  am  to  pay  out, 
with  interest  at  six  per  cent,  per  annum." 

**  On  these  conditions  1  might  perhaps  accept  your  offer,  and 
yet—" 

**  You  hesitate!  What  can  1  do  to  persuade  you?  Must  1  tell 
you  that  1  can  not  do  otherwise  than  extricate  you  from  your  embar- 
rassing position,  for  if  the  truth  should  become  known  1  should  be 
held  responsible  for  the  deficiency,  and  be  compelled  to  make  it 
good?  Have  you  pen,  ink  and  paper  handy?  Well,  sit  down  and 
write  what  I  dictate." 

Andre  seated  himself  at  the  table,  though  not  without  reluctance. 


40  BABTOLE,    TITE    PRETTY    MILLTKER. 

'*  1  hereby  certify  that  Monsieur  Chautepie  has  paid  into  the  safe  j 
of  Monsieur  Vernelle,  banker,  in  my  stead,  th(?  sum  of  one  hundred  l 
thousand  francs,  due  from  me  to  said  safe,  and  1  hereby  promise  to| 
refund  to  him  that  amount  five  years  from  date,'*  dictated  M.  Chau-] 
tepie.  \ 

**  It  seems  to  me  that  you  can  sign  this  without  compromising 
yourself,"  he  added,  *'  and  it  is  sufficient  security  for  me." 

Andre  did  not  hesitate  an  instant,  but  sis:n(3d  the  paper  without  | 
stopping  to  ask  himself  if  he  v^as  not  committiag  a  most  imprudent 
act,  and  it  this  document  did  not  place  his  honor  at  the  mercy  of  a 
man  who  was  befriending  him,  it  is  true,  but  who  was  an'entire 
stranger. 

M.  Chautepie  watched  the  young  man  as  he  affixed  his  signature, 
then  remarked:  ; 

"  That  is  all  right  now.  But  1  must  call  your  attention  to  the  facti 
tliat  you  ought  not  to  give  me  this  receipt  until  after  1  have  deposit-^ 
ed  in  the  safe  the  money  now  in  my  pocket. "  ; 

If  Andre  had  felt  any  doubts  of  his  new  friend's  integrity,  this 
warning  would  have  instantly  dispelled  Ihem.  His  only  answer  was 
to  hand  the  receipt  to  M.  Cnautepie,  who  folded  it  and  placed  it  in 
his  pocket-book,  saying  as  he  did  so. 

**  You  are  now  my  debtor.  Will  you  also  be  my  friend?  That  is 
my  most  earnest  desire." 

As  lie  spoRc,  he  extended  his  hand.     Andre  took  it  and  shook  it 
cordially ;  but  he  was  too  much  overcome  with  emotion  to  express  j 
his  gratitude  in  words. 

A  hurried  rapping  at  the  door  interrupted  this  scene.     On  hearing  '. 
the  sound  M.  Chautepie's  countenance  changed,  and  he  rose  abrupt- 
}y.     One  would  have  said  that  he  was  afraid  of  being  found  in  con- 
versation with  his  new  friend. 

Andre  was  less  surprised.  He  felt  almost  sure  that  the  new-comer 
was  Babiole,  for  she  had  told  him  that  she  would  return  at  eight 
o'clock,  and  the  shrill-voiced  cuckoo  had  just  repeated  its  name 
eight  times  in  quick  succession. 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  you  were  expecting  some  one?"  asked 
the  cashier,  a  trifle  impatiently.  *'  Can  it  be  that  Monsieur  Marbeuf 
has  returned?" 

*'  No,  unfortunately,"  repued  Andre.  '*  Marbenf  would  nOb  have 
rapped  The  ke}^  is  on  the  outside  of  the  door,  and  he  would  have 
come  straight  in." 

"  Open  it,  then;  but  not  a  word  on  the  subject  we  have  just  been 
discussing;  and  above  all,  do  not  mention  m}^  name." 

Andre  was  spared  the  trouble  of  opening  the  door,  however,  for 
befori'  he  could  reach  it,  Babiole  entered,  but  paused,  abashed,  on 
perceiving  a  stranger. 

"  Ex(  u^e  me,"  she  murmured,  **  1  knetv  that  you  were  not  alone, 
for  I  heard  voices,  but  1  supposed  you  were  talking  with  your  friend, 
Monsieur  Marbeuf,  so  1  ventured — " 

"  You  did  quite  right,  mademoiselle.  This  gentleman  is  also  one 
of  my  friends,  and  his  presence  need  not  disturb  you." 

*'  Then  Monsieur  Marbeuf  li-is  not  returned?"  inquired  the  young 
girl,  all  the  while  endeavoring  to  distinguish  the  features  of  this 
stranger  who  kept  his  face  sr?  ?-od ulously  averted. 


BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLIKER.  41 

"  No,  mademoiselle,  but  1  no  longer  feel  any  anxiety  on  his  ac- 
count." 

"  Is  that  really  so?"  she  asked,  joyfully.  **  How  glad  1  am  to 
hear  it!  This  gentleman  has  probably  brought  you  good  news,  then." 

'*  Yes,  mademoiselle,  very  good  news." 

**  Then  1  am  truly  grateful  to  the  gentleman,  for  I  felt  very  anx- 
ious. You  did  not*^go  to  bed,  nor  did  1.  1  watched  you  pacing  to 
and  fro  until  morning  came  and  you  extinguished  your  light.  Tlien 
I  could  not  wait  any  Jonger,  so  1  dressed  myself,  and  here  1  am! 
But  1  can  not  remain  any  longer,  1  must  go  to  the  shop;  besides,  1 
don't  want  to  disturb  you." 

*Nor  would  1  detain  you,  mademoiselle;  but  we  shall  see  each 
other  again." 

*'  1  hope  so— and  If  you — " 

Just  then  M.  Cliautepie,  who  seemed  to  be  annoyed,  rather  than 
amused  by  this  interchange  of  civilities,  made  an  impatient  move- 
ment that  brought  his  face  distinctlj^  in  view,  and  Babiole  did  not 
complete  the  sentence,  but  stood  with  parted  lips  and  eyes  riveted 
upon  the  cashier,  who  hastily  turned  his  back  upon  her. 

Andie  felt  that  his  benefactor  was  anxious  for  the  visit  to  termin- 
ate, so  taking  the  hand  of  the  young  girl,  he  led  her  gently  toward 
the  door,  saying  in  low  tones: 

*'  Thanks!  You  saved  me.  But  for  you,  the  good  news  would 
have  come  too  late.     This  evening  1  will  explain  all." 

To  his  great  astonishment,  Babiole  allowed  herself  to  be  led  from 
the  room  without  a  word,  she  who  usually  chattered  like  a  magpie. 
But  as  soon  as  they  reached  the  landing,  she  hastily  turned  to  him 
and  whispered: 

*'  Beware  of  that  man.     He  is  a  bad  man." 

And  without  waiting  to  hear  the  reply  of  Andre,  who  was  still 
holding  the  door  partially  open,  she  ran  swiftly  down -stairs. 

*'  Who  is  that  girl?"  inquired  M.  Chautepie  dryly.  **  And  how 
did  5^ou  become  acquainted  with  her?" 

"  She  is  a  milliner  who  has  rooms  on  the  same  floor,  and  last 
night,  when  1  was  on  the  point  oi  blowing  my  brains  out,  she  saw 
me  with  a  revolver  m  my  hand,  and  ran  over  to  prevent  the  tragedy. 
Had  she  been  a  single  moment  later,  you  would  not  have  found  me 
alive  this  morning." 

'*  She  is  certainly  a  very  well  meaning  person;  and  in  your  grati- 
tude you  probably  made  certain  disclosures  to  her." 

"  None  whatever,  sir,"  replied  Andre,  a  little  annoyed  by  M. 
Chautepie's  tone  and  manner. 

**  You  can't  make  me  beHeve  that  she  did  not  ask  you  why  you 
wanted  to  kill  yourself." 

"  She  did  ask  me;  but  1  gave  her  only  a  very  vague  explanation. 
1  merely  told  her  I  had  troubles,  without  telling  her  what  they 
were." 

**Even  that  was  saying  too  much.  1  hope,  however,  that  you 
have  no  idea  nf  carrying  the  intimacy  any  further." 

This  time  Andre's  anger  was  really  aroused,  and  he  said  curtly: 

*'  1  am  your  debtor,  sir,  and  1  shall  never  forget  it;  but  that  is  no 
reason  why  1  should  allow  you  to  treat  me  like  a  school- boy." 


42  BABIOLE,    TJlK     I'iMJli      311LLTK"ER. 

The  visitor  saw  that  he  had  [;one  too  far,  and  with  a  sudden 
change  of  manner,  said : 

**  You  are  right,  and  1  am  wrong.  You  must  not  be  offended 
with  me,  however.  It  was  only  my  interest  in  you  that  prompted 
the  warning.  Recollect  that  if  this  affair  should  become  known,  all 
would  be  lost.  It  must  be  kept  a  secret  between  us,  if  we  would 
not  compromise  ourselves  irretrievably,  and  1  have  not  much  confi- 
dence in  a  woman's  discretion. 

"Besides,"  added  M.  Chautepie,  smihng,  **  Mademoiselle  Cle- 
mence  might  not  like  the  idea  ot  your  running  after  pretty  grisettes. 
You  will  have  to  be  very  exemplary  in  such  matters  if  you  want  to 
please  her." 

iVndre  was  strongly  tempted  to  reply  that  he  had  formed  no  defi- 
nite plans  on  this  subjecl.  His  gratitude  toward  his  benefactor  alone 
Kept  him  silent.  He  thought  Mile.  Vernelle  charming,  but  the  idea 
of  paying  court  to  her  from  mercenary  motives  had  not  once  entered 
his  mind. 

'•  But  1  am  alarming  myself  unnecessarily,"  continued  the  cashier 
gayly,  "  for  I  am  sure  you  will  return  to  this  apartment  only  to  take 
away  your  trunk.  The  private  secretary  of  one  of  the  richest  bank- 
ers in  Paris  can  not  live  in  a  dingy  house  like  this." 

"  Monsieur  Vernelle  advised  me  to  seek  other  lodgings,  and  1  shall 
follow  his  advice.  Still,  if  my  friend  Marbeuf  should  return  1  shall 
continue  to  visit  him." 

"What!  you  still  entertain  hopes  of  his  return?  You  have  too 
good  an  opinion  ot  him.  Rest  assured  you  will  never  see  him 
again,  it  is  useless  for  us  to  tarry  here  any  longer.  You  will  go 
with  me,  will  you  not?" 

"  Where?" 

*'  To  our  emplo3^er*s,  of  course.  He  expects  to  see  you  at  nine 
o'clock;  audit  is  now  a  quarter  of  nine.  We  can  reach  the  Rue 
Berg^re  in  ten  minutes;  but  it  is  better  to  be  ahead  of  time  than  late. 
Monsieur  Vernelle  is  a  monomaniac  on  the  subject  ot  punctuality, 
and  he  will  be  delighted  to  find  you  in  his  oflice." 

Andre  forgot  tor  an  instant  the  mysterious  disappearance  ot  Mar- 
beuf, and  the  singular  warning  Babiole  had  given  him.  He  even 
forgot  to  write  to  his  mother  and  Inform  her  of  his  good  fortune. 

"  But  1  can  not  go  there  as  1  am,"  he  murmured. 

"  Oh,  1  will  give  you  time  lo  wash  your  face  and  hands.  As  for 
your  clothing,  it  is  the  same  you  had  on  yesterday,  and  it  will  do 
very  well,  1  think." 

While  Andre  made  the  hasty  toilet  recommended  by  the  cashier, 
the  latter  strode  restlessly  up  and  down  the  room.  He  was  evidently 
in  a  hurry  to  get  away. 

"You  are  superb,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  exclaimed,  when  the 
operation  was  concluded.  "  Mademoiselle  Clemence  will  go  mad 
over  you.  1  certainly  made  a  mistake  in  the  date  of  the  marriage. 
1  said  in  a  year.     You  will  be  married  in  six  months," 

Andre  said  nothing,  though  the  remark  annoyed  him  not  a  little. 

**  Let  us  start,"  said  the  cashier,  eagerly,  turning  toward  the  door. 

Andre  locked  it  and  left  the  key  with  the  concierge  in  passing 
out.  He  still  cherished  a  hope  that  Marbeuf  would  call  for  it;  and 
on  reaching  the  street  he  paused  to  see  if  his  friend  was  not  in  sight. 


BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLINER.  43 

Chautepie  gave  a  slight  shrug  ot  the  shoulders;  and  they  walked 
lown  the  Faubourg  Montmartre  without  speaking. 
But  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Berg^re  Chautepie  paused  to  say  to 

"'^  I  think  you  would  do  well  to  take  some  precautions  No  one 
must  know  that  I  have  been  to  your  house.  Vernelle  thinks  I  have 
not  seen  you  since  last  evening;  and  it  any  of  the  employes  ot  the 
establishment  should  see  us  together  it  might  occasion  remark,  bo 
I  will  go  around  by  the  Boulevard  Poissonniere  and  the  Hue  Kouge- 
mont  while  you  follow  this  street.  1  will  take  the  clerk's  staircase; 
vou  had  better  use  that  of  our  employer.  Try  to  appear  perfectly 
at  ease  in  his  presence,  and  when  he  introduces  you  to  me,  you  must 
pretend  not  to  know  me.  Au  revoii\  my  dear  friend. 
Then  as  if  suddenly  recollecting  the  fact,  he  exclaimed: 
"  Why,  look  here,  1  took  Marbeuf 's  pistol  away  with  me  by  mis- 

^ ''^You  can  keep  it.    1  have  no  further  use  for  it,"  replied  Andre 
with  a  smile. 

CHAI*TER  111. 

A  MONTH  has  elapsed. 

Andre  has  entered  upon  his  duties  as  private  secretary,  and  mis 
the  position  in  such  a  manner  as  to  deserve  the  praise  M.  Ver- 
nelle lavishes  upon  him.  ,       .,  .,  *•       i 

Andre  has  pioved  himself  eminently  worthy  of  the  exceptional 
favor  shown  him.  The  former  idler  now  works  ten  hours  a  day. 
From  the  very  first  he  seemed  to  know  as  if  by  instinct  all  the  in. 
tricacies  of  the  business.  Book-keeping  has  no  longer  any  secrets 
from  him;  he  is  equallv  at  home,  loo,  with  the  business  cor- 
respondence,  for  he  is  familiar  with  English,  German,  and  Italian, 
and  he  writes  French  much  better  than  his  employer.  He  is  aii 
excellent  accountant,  and  as  he  wiitesi  a'  capital  hand,  he  would 
make  an  excellent  book-keeper,  if  necessary.  , 

The  discovery  of  these  business  talents  was  a  great  surprise  to 
Andre  They  had  remained  in  a  dormant  state  because  he  had 
never  had  occasion  to  make  use  of  them,  but  he  possessed  them. 
His  father  was  a  merchant.     It  was  in  the  blood. 

In  character,  too,  Andre  is  no  less  changed.  The  thoughtless  and 
extravagant  man  of  fashion  has  become  the  serious  and  industrious 
man  of  business,  beginning  work  before  the  appointed  hour,  and 
dining  frugally  in  order  to  save  as  much  of  his  salary  as  possible. 

He  has  already  returned  to  his  mother  two  hundred  francs  of  the 
money  she  had  advanced  for  his  traveling  expenses,  and  he  has  so 
planned  his  expenditures  that  he  can  send  one  half  ot  his  salary  to 
Mme.  Subligny  every  month. 

It  is  true,  however,  that  M.  Vernelle  paid  all  the  expenses  attend- 
ant upon  his  installation  in  his  new  quarters. 

One  week  alter  his  arrival  in  Paris,  Andre  became  the  possessor 
of  a  cheerful  and  prettily  furnished  suite  of  apartments  on  the  Rue 
Rouo-emont,  only  a  few  steps  from  his  employer's  house;  and  on 
the  mantel  he  found  a  receipt  for  the  first  quarter's  rent  and  the 
upholsterer's  receipted  bill. 


44  babiol:e:,  the  pretty  millikeh.  i 

Thus  the  predictions  of  M.  Chautepie  began  to  be  verified,  for 
the  banker  certainly  treated  his  secretary  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
give  him  reason  to  hope  that  the  rest  of  the  prophecy  would  come 
to  pass  in  due  time. 

M.  Vernelle  had  Introduced  Andre  not  only  to  the  heads  of 
the  various  departments,  but  to  the  principal  patrons  of  the  house, 
and  to  his  business  friends,  very  much  as  he  would  have  presented 
a  future  partner. 

Every  one  understood  this,  and  no  one  had  been  very  much  sur 
prised  at  the  new  corner';^  good  fortune.  Some  were  rather  jealous, 
perliaps;  but  all  were  compelled  to  do  justice  to  his  merits;  besides, 
Andre  had  a  way  of  making  himself  as  popular  with  petty  clerks 
as  with  great  capitalists. 

IJe  had  even  succeeded  in  winning  the  heart  of  the  formidable 
Bertand,  though  he  never  could  speak  to  him  without  emotion,  toi 
the  sight  of  this  man  recalled  the  most  painful  recollections  of  his 
life. 

On  the  morning  followinsf  the  terrible  night  on  which  he  had 
been  so  near  death,  everything  occurred  exactly  as  the  amiabk 
Chautepie  had  predicted. 

M.  Vernelle  received  him  with  open  arms,  and  said  not  a  word  in 
relation  to  the  events  of  the  previous  evening.  M.  Bertand  called  foi 
his  money  and  took  it  away  after  carefully  counting  it.  The  de- 
ficiency having  been  made  up  by  the  cashier,  the  only  trace  that  re- 
mained of  the  unfortunate  aftair  was  the  remorse  in  Andre  Sub 
liguy's  heart. 

He  had  not  forgotten  his  fault,  though  it  seemed  to  him  some 
times  that  it  was  all  a  dream;  and  his  gratitude  toward  his  bene 
factor  was  as  profound  as  ever. 

They  met  very  seldom  except  during  office  hours,  but  they  were 
on  the  best  of  terms;  and  whenever  Andre  attempted  to  refer  to  th€ 
services  rendered,  his  benefactor  interrupted  him  by  saying  gayly: 

"  Not  another  word,  or  you  will  offend  me.  We  will  resume  thii 
conversation  next  year,  when  you  become  my  employer." 

Nevertheless,  m  this  cloudless  horizon  that  opened  before  Andre 
there  was  one  black  speck— the  mysterious  disappearance  of  Louis 
Marbeuf. 

No  one  had  seen  him  since  that  eventful  night,  nor  had  any  news 
been  received  of  him. 

His  concierge  on  the  Rue  Lamartine,  after  waiting  a  week,  in 
formed  the  nearest  commissioner  of  police  of  the  prolonged  absenc( 
ot  ooe  of  the  inmates  of  the  house,  and  the  commissioner  began  an 
investigation,  which  proved  futile,  however. 

Andre  was  questioned  on  the  subject,  but  he  took  good  care  not 
to  tell  all  he  knew.  In  Paris,  such  mysterious  disappearances  arc 
by  no  means  rare;  nocturnal  attacks  are  still  less  so,  but  the  night 
that  Andre  had  spent  in  waiting  for  his  friend  had  been  signalized 
only  by  such  insignificant  accidents  as  the  arrest  of  several  drunken 
men,  and  a  few  street  brawls;  but  there  had  been  no  murders,  noi 
even  any  sudden  death,  nor  a  discovery  of  any  lifeless  body  in  th( 
streets. 

Andre  went  to  the  morgue,  but  saw  there  only  a  few  persons  who 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLINEB,  45 

had  perished  by  drowning,  and  who  did  not  resemble  his  uniortu- 
nate  friend  in  the  least.  ^  ,.  i .    * 

MM.  Pivot  and  Gainer  were  unable  to  give  him  the  slightest 
information  in  regard  to  their  derli,  and  did  not  conceal  the  fact 
that  they  intended  to  fill  his  place  at  once.  Maibeut.  having  uo  re- 
latives in  Paris,  at  least,  not  to  their  knowledge,— Andre  lelt  him- 
self obliged  to  push  the  investigation  further,  though  he  did  so  in 
defiance  of  the  counsels  of  M.  Cliautepie,  who  had  maintained  trom 
the  very  first  that  Marbeuf  had  crossed  the  frontier,  and  who  per- 
sisted in  this  opinion,  as  he  did  not  fail  to  tell  the  young  secretary 
from  time  to  time,  as  opportunity  ottered. 

"  Your  Marbeuf  has  crossed  the  Atlantic  and  become  a  naturalized 
citizen  of  the  United  States  by  this  time.  He  will  discover  a  gold 
mine  in  California,  perhaps,  and  repay  you  some  day  or  other.' 

These  jests  annoyed  Andre  greatly,  but  he  was  unable  to  make 
any  retort,  for  the  conduct  of  the  missing  man  leally  seemed  un- 
pardonable; and  Andre  finally  came  to  the  conclusion  that  Louis 
had  allowed  himself  to  be  tempted  by  the  large  amount  ot  money 
intrusted  to  him,  and  that  he  would  never  return. 

In  his  researches,  he  Had  neglected  but  one  person,  and  it  was  not 
at  all  likely  that  she  would  be  able  to  furnish  liim  with  any  informa- 
tion, as  she  scarcely  knew  Marbeuf.  Andre  had  not  seen  Babioie 
since  that  eventful  morning,  and  he  regretted  every  day  not  having 
thanked  hei  as  she  deserved,  for  he  owed  his  life  to  her  even  more 
than  to  the  cashier,  w^ho  would  have  come  too  late  but  lor  her. 

On  taking  leave  of  her  that  morning,  he  had  promised  to  see  her 
again  the  following  evening,  but  though  he  had  failed  to  keep  his 
word,  it  was  not  his  fault.  Later  in  the  same  day  he  had  returned 
to  the  Rue  Lamartine  for  his  trunk,  M.  Vernelle  having  advised 
him  to  take  up  his  abode  temporarily  in  furnished  rooms  on  the 
Rue  Berg^re. 

He  left  a  letter  for  Marbeuf,  in  case  he  should  return,  but  he  was 
obliged  to  go  away  without  seeing  Babioie  who  was  not  at  home ; 
nor  had  he  been  any  more  fortunate  afterward,  when  he  called  to 
inquire  of  the  concierge  if  Marbeuf  had  returned. 

He  had  not  forgotten  Babiole*s  warnina:.  '*  Beware  of  that  man. 
He  is  a  scoundrel,"  the  voung  girl  had  said  in  speaking  of  Monsieur 
Chautepie;  but  Andre  was  one  of  those  persons  who  close  their 
hearts  against  suspicion.  When  he  liked  a  person,  he  liked  hiin 
thoroughly;  his  gratitude  to  his  benefactor  was  boundless,  and  his 
friendship  unalterable.  He  believed  in  him  implicitly,  and  he  did 
not  wish  to  be  undeceived  in  regard  to  a  man  who  had  so  generously 
piofl:ered  him  a  helping  hand.  Moreover,  he  attached  very  little 
importance  to  the  girl's  opinion,  ana  firmly  resolved  to  check  her  if 
she  evtir  ventured  to  speak  disparagingly  of  the  cashier  in  his 
presence,  for  he  had  by  no  means  renounced  the  idea  of  seeing  her 
again  under  conditions  that  would  enable  him  to  talk  with  her. 

Such  was  the  state  ot  afiaiis,  and  Andre  was  giadually  recover 
ing  fiom  the  effect  of  so  many  shocks,  when  one  morning  M.  Ver- 
nelle, who  had  gone  out  before  breakfast,  something  very  unusual 
lor  him,  sent  his  valet  to  summon- his  secretary  to  the  table. 

Aadr6  eagerly  obeyed  the  summons,  for  he  knew  that  Mme. 


46  BABIOLE^    THE    PKETTY    MILLINER. 

Vernelle  would  be  at  the  breaktasl -table,  but  just  as  he  was  leaving 
the  room,  he  met  Chautepie,  who  whispered: 

"  Our  employer  has  received  bad  news,  and  he  is  not  in  gooc 
spirits.     1  thought  it  best  to  warn  you." 

This  confidential  disclosure  astonished  Andre. 

He  wondered  what  the  tidings  could  be,  for  it  had  never  occurrec 
to  him  that  the  rich  banker's  peace  of  mind  could  be  disturbed  bj 
any  loss  whatever,  and  a  suspicion  that  M.  Yernelle  had  in  some 
way  heard  of  the  theft  of  the  bank  notes  flashed  across  his  mind. 

"  There  has  been  a  heavy  failure  in  Marseilles,"  continued  Chau 
tcpie,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  '*  and  we  shall  probably  lose  a  coupl 
of  millions.  Vernelle  will  never  listen  to  me.  I  warned  him  tha 
the  firm  was  not  sound,  but  he  only  laughed  at  me." 

**  How  unfortunate!"  exclaimed  Andre,  sincerely  grieved. 

"  Oh,  Vernelle  can  stand  such  a  loss  as  this  without  feeling  i 
seriously,  but  he  has  been  investing  heavily  in  high-priced  securi 
ties — still  against  my  advice— and  yesterday  there  was  a  terribl 
tumble  in  stociis,  and  the  whole  tendency  of  the  market  is  down 
ward.  1  should  not  be  surprised  if  Bertand  went  under— to  tell  th( 
truth,  1  should  not  be  very  soriy  for  his  downfall — but  he  owes  th< 
house  a  large  amount  of  money,  and  if  he  should  fail,  he  will  dra^ 
our  employer  down  with  him." 

"  It  is  no  wonder,  then,  that  he  is  depressed  in  spirits,"  remarkei 
Andre. 

"  To  say  nothing  of  the  fact  that  his  health  seems  to  be  failini 
fast,"  continued  Chautepie,  tranquilly.  "His  nervous  attacks  ar 
becoming  more  and  more  frequent,  and  he  takes  so  much  bromid 
that  he  is  positively  insane  at  times.     His  physician  told  me  so." 

"  Good  heavens!  you  really  terrify  me!" 

"  The  moral  of  all  this,  my  dear  fellow,  is  that  you  must  mak 
haste  and  marry  Mademoiselle  Clemence  before  her  father's  financin 
blunders  reduce  her  to  comparative  poverty.  So  press  your  suit 
1  hear  that  it  is  prospering  finely.  Rose,  the  young  lady's  maid 
tells  me  her  mistress  talks  of  no  one  but  you.  Matters  would  pro 
gross  even  more  rapidly,  if  you  chose.  1  fear  that  j^ou  have  been 
little  timid  up  to  the  present  time.  Young  girls  do  not  like  faini 
hearted  lovers.  Pluck  up  courage,  my  boy,  pluck  up  courage,  an 
mark  my  w^ords,  you  will  see  the  efiect." 

"  The  effect  would  be  disastrous,"  answered  Subligny,  quickly 
**  and  I  do  not  feel  inclined  to  make  the  venture." 

*'  So  much  the  worse  for  you.  The  first  thing  you  know,  yot 
will  be  left  out  in  the  cold.  If  I  advise  you  to  go  ahead  it  is  fo 
your  own  sake,  and  a  little  for  ray  own,  for  though  1  was  delighte 
to  be  able  to  do  you  a  service,  1  don't  want  to  lose  my  money  c 
course. 

'*  I  know  perfectly  well  that  you  have  taken  out  a  life  insurauc 
policy  of  one  hundred  thousand  francs  for  my  benefit,  but  1  don' 
want  you  to  die,  besides,  there  is  every  probability  that  you  wi 
outlive  me. 

"  Excuse  me  for  detaining  you.  I  only  wished  to  make  you  a( 
quaintcd  with  the  situation.  Au  rewir,  my  dear  friend,  don't  kee 
Mademoiselle  Clenicnce  waiting  any  longer." 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLIKER.  47 

As  be  uttered  these  concluding  words,  Monsieur  Chautepie  re- 
entered his  office,  leaving  the  young  secretary  to  his  reflections. 

The  poor  fellow  was  completely  bewildered.  JVl.  Vernelle's  mis- 
fortunes touched  him  as  deeply  as  M.  Chautepie's  language  shocked 
him.  The  tone  of  indifference,  and  the  Ipvity  with  which  the  cashier 
announced  these  misfortunes,  and,  above  all,  his  advice,  surprised 
and  irritated  Andre,  coming  from  a'inan  whom  he  regarded  as  his 
benetactor,  and  whom  he  had  heretofore  loved  and  admired. 

"  He  seems  to  think  that  1  have  placed  myself  completely  in  his 
power  by  accepting  an  important  service  from  him,"  thought 
Andre.  "  1  will  let  him  see  that  he  is  mistaken.  I  owe  him  a  debt 
of  gratitude,  it  is  true,  but  1  am  still  master  of  my  heart  and  of  my 
actions.  1  love  Mademoiselle  Clemence,  but  1  certainly  have  a  right 
to  keep  my  love  a  secret,  rf  1  choose;  and  1  shall  not  expose  myself 
to  the  dangers  of  a  refusal.  Monsieur  Chautepie  may  think  what 
he  likes  about  it,  it  makes  no  difference  to  me.  He  has  just  shown 
himself  to  me  in  a  new  light,  for  the  sentiments  he  expresses  cer- 
tainly do  him  no  honor.  1  wonder  if  little  Babiole  was  not  right 
when  she  advised  me  not  to  trust  himV" 

This  soliloquy  was  interrupied  by  the  valet  who  returned  to  in- 
form him  that  breakfast  was  on  the  table,  and  to  ask  him  to  come 
at  once. 

Andre  hastened  toward  the  small  dining  room  where  the  banker 
breakfasted  every  morning  with  his  daughter  and  his  secretary. 
There  was  a  much  larger  one  for  ceremonious  dinners. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Andre  had  ever  been  late  to  a  repast 
which  was  the  pleasantest  episode  of  the  day  to  him,  and  the  in- 
formation so  complacently  imparted  by  the  cashier  had  agitated  him 
so  much  that  he  entered  the  room  rather  awkwardly. 

M.  Yernelle  ana  his  daughter  were  already  in  their  accustomed 
seats.  These  breakfasts  were  usually  very  delightful.  They 
were  served  at  twelve  o'clock  precisely.  The  banker  usually  came 
in  first,  bringing  Subligny;  then  Clemence  entered,  fresh  and  cheer- 
ful, and  threw  her  arms  around  her  father's  neck  and  kissed  him 
and  hugged  him  as  vehemently  as  in  the  days  wlien  she  was  still 
playing  with  her  doll  and  hoop. 

The  different  dishes  were  all  placed  on  the  table  beforehand,  and 
each  person  helped  himself.  The  presence  of  a  servant  w^ould  have 
been  a  constraint,  for  this  was  the  hour  of  familiar  conversation. 

M.  Yernelle,  who  was  weighed  down  with  business  cares  and 
anxiety,  really  had  no  other  lime  to  himself  during  the  day.  At 
the  breakfast-table,  he  could  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  being  a  father.  He 
became  young  again,  laughed  heartily  at  all  their  little  jests,  and 
even  condescended  to  play  all  sorts  of  mischievous,  nonsensical 
pranks  on  his  daughter  who,  in  turn,  often  amused  herself  by  tying 
his  napkin  arouna  his  neck. 

He  was,  however,  as  a  general  thing,  the  most  serious  of  men. 

From  the  very  beginning,  the  father  and  dau^^hter  had  treated 
Andre  as  if  he  had  been  a  member  of  the  family  for  years,  and  his 
behavior  had  justified  this  cordiality  ou  their  part.  He  had  plenty 
ot  wit  and  tact,  and,  what  is  far  better,  sound  common  sense.  He 
talked  well,  and  he  was  a  good  lislener.  Attentive  and  grave,  when 
the  father  happened  to  refer  to  some  business  matter  which  had  been 


48  BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLIl^ER. 

previously  discussed  in  the  office,  he  was  never  at  a  loss  when  the 
daughter  engaged  him  in  conversation  upon  the  theater,  painting, 
or  even  dress. 

He  had  completely  won  the  hearts  of  both  of  them  by  appearing 
exactly  what  he  was. 

That  day,  he  perceived,  at  a  glance,  that  the  banker  was  greatly 
preoccupied.  His  naturally  stern  face  was  unusually  grave;  his  eyes 
were  sunken,  and  his  lips  colorless,  while  his  drawn  features  indi- 
cated both  mental  and  physical  suffering. 

Clemence,  on  the  contrary,  had  never  been  in  more  exub<  rant 
spirits.  The  rise  and  fall  of  stocks  and  financial  panics  di(i  not 
affect  her  in  the  least.  Her  lite  was  as  calm  and  transparent  as  the 
waters  ot  a  fountain,  her  sky  always  cloudless,  and  melancholy 
was  a  thing  unknown  to  hei. 

"You  have  come  at  last,  sir,"  she  exclaimed,  as  soon  as  she 
caught  sight  of  Andre.  '*  It  is  very  naughty  of  you  to  keep  us 
waiting,  especially  to-day,  for  j)apa  is  terribly  out  of  spirits,  and  1 
need  your  assistance  in  amusing  him." 

**  You  must  pardon  me  this  time,  mademoiselle,"  stammered 
Subligny.     "  Monsieur  Chautepie  detained  me—" 

"He  was  talking  business,  I'll  warrant.  He  has  no  right  to  do 
it  after  the  clock  strikes  twelve,  and  I  am  going  to  complain  ot  him 
to  papa  if  he  ever  does  it  again." 

""What  are  you  talking  about,  child?"  interposed  M.  Vernellc. 
*'Take  a  seat,  my  dear  Andre.  You  must  not  be  surprised  if  1 
am  not  in  the  best  of  humor,  this  morning.  1  had  one  ot  my  ner- 
vous attacks  last  night,  and  an  attack  of  indigestion  as  well." 

Andre  saw  that  his  employ^er  did  not  wish  any  allusion  made  to 
his  business  troubles,  and  he  was  about  to  inquire  more  particu- 
larly about  his  health  when  Clemence  prevented  him  from  doing  so 
by  exclaiming: 

**  And  you  said  nothins:  to  me  about  it,  and  here  1  nearly  forgot 
to  give  you  your  medicine.  Fortunately,  I  have  it  in  my  pocket. 
Quick,  hand  me  j^our  glass  so  I  can  put  the  prescribed  dose  into  it. 
Now  do  me  the  favor  to  take  it  before  you  begin  your  breakfast." 

M.  Yernelle  swallowed,  though  not  without  a  grimace,  the  bitter 
potion  his  daughter  had  just  prepared  fo  him. 

'*  It  is  very  unpalatable,"  he  remarked,  *'  and  it  seems  to  me  that 
1  have  been  growing  ivorse  e^er  since  I  began  this  treatment;  Ihave 
sent  for  the  doctor,  and  am  expecting  him  here  this  morning.  1 
want  to  consult  him." 

*'  He  will  tell  you  not  to  work  so  hard." 

**  It  is  impossible  tor  me  to  do  otherwise  just  now.  Business 
matters  require  my  closest  attention,  and  they  must  have  it — at 
whatever  cost  to  myself,"  the  banker  added,  sjloomily. 

*'  But  let  us  talk  of  something  else.  Have  you  heard  from  your 
mother,  lately,  my  dear  Andre?    She  is  well,  I  hope." 

*•  Perfectly  well,  sir.  My  mother  is  very  happy,  and  it  is  to  you 
that  she  owes  her  happiness.     She  blesses  you  every  day." 

*'  Why  will  she  not  come  and  pay  us  a  visit?"  inquired  Clemence. 
**  I  am  so  anxious  to  know  her." 

**  If  yoa  did  know  her,  mademoiselle,  1  am  sure  you  would  lov§ 
her  almost  as  much  as  you  would  your  own  mother." 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLIlsTEE.  49 

This  remark  produced  an  effect  that  Andre  had  not  foreseen. 

il.  Vernelle  turned  pale,  and  dropped  his  knife  and  fork;  Cle- 
mence  blushed,  hung  her  head,  and  gave  her  undivided  attention  to 
the  very  simple  task  of  removing  an  egg  from  its  shell. 

Andre  perceived,  when  it  was  too  late,  that  he  had  been  guilty  of 
a  terrible  blunder.  It  had  never  before  occurred  to  his  mmd  that 
M.  Vernelle  was  not  a  widower. 

Neither  his  father  nor  mother  had  ever  referred  to  M me.  Vernelle, 
and  yet,  they  had  often  spoken  of  the  banker  and  had  sometimes 
mentioned  (he  daughter,  but  of  the  wife— never  a  word. 

When  Andre  presented  his  letter  of  recommendation  to  M.  Ver- 
nelle, on  his  arrival  in  Paris,  that  gentleman,  who  had  lost  no  time 
in  introducing  him  to  his  daughter,  had  not  added:  '*  1  will  present 
you  to  my  wife."  During  the  past  months,  too,  Andre  had  had 
abundant  opportunity  to  satisfy  himself  that  his  employer  was  liv- 
|ing  alone  with  Mile.  Clemence,  and  the  thought  of  making  any  in- 
iiiry  into  the  particulars  of  his  marriage  had  never  once  occurred 
,0  our  friend. 

M.  Chautepie,  who  certainly  could  have  enlightened  him,  had 
ever  made  any  allusion  to  the  subject. 

"Why,  then,  did  the  father  seem  agitated  and  the  daughter  blush, 
and  a  painful  silence  succeed  the  animated  conversation  of  a  mo- 
ment before? 

Coald  it  be  that  the  father  had  never  been  married,  or  had  Mme. 
Vernelle  conducted  herself  improperly,  and  the  family  been  broken 
up  in  consequence  of  one  of  those  scandals  which  make  an  honest 
man  the  laughing-stock  of  all  the  fops  and  gossips  of  Paris? 

Whichever  may  have  been  the  case,  Andre  had  certainly  put  his 
foot  in  it,  as  the  saying  is.  He  realized  this,  and  dared  not  open 
his  lips  for  fear  of  committing  some  fresh  blunder. 

With  his  eyes  riveted  upon  his  plate,  he  sat  for  some  moments, 
pretending  to  eat;  then,  glancing  up,  he  saw  that  Mile.  Vernelle 
was  regarding  him  with  a  compassionate  air  as  one  looks  at  a  guest 
who  has  just  broken  a  glass  or  upset  a  decanter. 

She  evidently  pitied  him,  and  Andre  might  reasonably  hope  that 
she  would  come  to  his  relief,  which  she  finally  did  with  much  grace 
and  sweetness. 

My  father  has  promised  to  take  me  to  some  watering-place  this 
summer,"  she  said,  forcing  a  smile,  **  and  he  leaves  the  choice  of 
the  place  to  me.  1  have  selected  Havre,  and  1  hope  my  father  will 
not  refuse  j^ou  leave  of  absence  at  the  same  time.  In  that  case,  you 
can  introduce  me  to  Madame  Subligny.  At  her  age,  a  journey  is 
very  fatiguing,  and  we  shall  ihus  avoid  giving  her  the  trouble  of 
coming  to  us." 

M.  Vernelle  nodded  his  approval,  but  said  nothing.  He  seemed 
to  be  suffering  terribly. 

Andre  stammered  a  few  words  of  thanks,  and  the  conversation 
again  ceased. 

'*  I  have  certainly  committed  a  terrible  blunder,"  thought  the  poor 
fellow,  "and  Heaven  only  knows  if  Monsieur  Vernelle  will  ever 
forgive  me.  1  have  certainly  wounded  him  deeply,  though  unia- 
^entionaUy  ar^d  innocently. " 


60  BABIOLE,    THE    PKETTY    MILLIKER. 

Clemence  had  not  abandoned  all  hope  of  reviving  the  conversation, 
however,  for  she  said  suddenly: 

"  How  do  you  pass  your  evenings,  Monsieur  Andre?  We  seldom 
see  you  after  the  office  closes.     Do  you  attend  the  theater  often?" 

*•  No,  mademoiselle,  I  have  not  been  theie  since  1  came  to  Paris.'* 

"  You  must  go  with  us  some  evening.  By  the  way,  father  has 
a  box  for  the  Opera  Comique  this  very  evening.  Are  you  lond  of 
music?" 

*'  Very  fond  of  it.' 

*•  Then  you  will  enjoy  hearing  the  '  Pre-aux-Clercs;'  1  know  it  by 
heart,  but  1  never  tire  of  listening  to  it.  You  will  accompany  us, 
will  you  not?" 

Andre  glanced  at  M.  Vernelle. 

**  1  am  not  sure  that  1  shall  be  able  to  take  you  there,"  said  the 
banker.  **  1  have  an  appalling  amount  of  work  on  hand;  besides,  1 
don't  ieel  well." 

*•  All  the  more  reason  why  you  should  not  remain  at  home.  You 
have  not  gone  out  in  the  evening  for  a  month;  in  fact,  you  haven't 
taken  me  to  the  play  since  the  day  you  first  introduced  Monsieur 
JSubligny  to  me,  in  your  office.  That  evening,  we  went  to  the  Re- 
naissance. 1  remember  it  as  if  it  were  but  yesterday,  though  1  must 
confess  that  1  scarcely  heard  a  w^ord  of  the  play." 

It  would  have  been  difficult  to  tell  Andre  more  plainly  that  theii 
first  interview  had  made  a  profound  impression  upon  her,  and  thai 
the  happy  day  was  still  fresh  in  her  memory. 

The  poor  fellow  blushed  with  pleasure,  and  also  with  shame,  foi 
this  allusion  to  the  past  reminded  him  of  his  fault,  and  of  Louis 
Marbeuf,  who  had  so  mysteriously  disappeared  while  M.  Vernelle 
and  his  daughter  were  at  the  theater. 

**  But  Ishall  listen  religiously  to  the '  Pre-aux-Clercs,'  "  continued 
Clemence,  **  and  if  you  should  go  to  sleep  as  you  usually  do,  1  shaljj 
have  some  one  to  talk  wMth,  as  Monsieur  Subligny  will  be  there.  It 
is  decided,  is  it  not?"  j 

**  1  cannot  promise,"  said  the  banker.  *'  It  I  feel  better,  and  my 
evening  is  not  taken  up,  as  1  fear  it  will  be,  by  a  very  important  mat 
ter,  we  will  see." 

*'  *  We  will  see  '  is  too  vague.  Insist  with  me.  Monsieur  Andre 
My  father  will  not  refuse  you ;  and  you  certainly  richly  deserve  th 
pleasure  of  hearing  my  faviirite  opera,  tor  you  have  been  hard  a 
work  ever  since  your  arrival." 

**  1  am  at  Monsieur  Vernelle's  orders,"  stammered  Subligny. 

**  Clemence  forgets  that  I  release  you  at  six  o'clock  every  day," 
said  the  banker,  smiling,  '*  but  she  does  quite  right  to  offer  you  2 
seat  in  our  box.  When  one  works  as  steadily  as  j^ou  do,  a  little 
diversion  is  a  good  thing,  and  1  expect  you  lead  a  regular  her- 
mit's life. 

*'  Recollect,  my  friend,  that  this  house  is  always  open  to  you.  It  is 
not  a  very  gay  one,  unfortunately,  but  you  will  always  find  a  cordja 
welcome,  a  cup  of  tea,  and  a  seat  by  the  fireside.  Not  this  evening, 
however,  as  Clemence  seems  determined  to  drag  me  to  the  theater 
but  there  is  nothing.  1  hope,  to  prevent  you  from  joining  us  there.' 

"  He  consents  at  lastl"  exclaimed  the  young  girl,  clapping  he 


BABIOLE,   THE    PSETTY    MILLIiq"ER.  51 

hands.     "  I  trust  now  that  you  are  not  2;oing  to  refuse,*'  she  aaded, 
turning  to  Andre. 

•*  1  should  be  only  too  happy,  mademoiselle,  if—" 

*•  If  you  refuse,  I  shall  think  you  prefer  youi  other  friends  to  us." 

"  I  have  no  other  friends,  mademoiselle.'* 

*•  Indeed!  Why,  1  was  under  the  impression  that  you  stopped 
with  an  old  school  friend  when  you  first  arrived  in  Paris?'* 

•'  Yes,  mademoiselle,  but  1  have  not  seen  him  recently.** 

"  What!  have  you  quarreled  with  him?" 

"N"o,  he  has  gone  away— he  bas  left  Paris,"  replied  Andre,  in 
very  evident  embarrassment. 

"  But  he  will  return,  1  suppose?"  ! 

'*  1  think  not." 

"  What  has  become  of  the  young  man?"  inquired  M.  Vernelle. 
**  He  was  a  clerk  in  a  mercantile  house,  was  he  not?'* 

'*  Y'es,  sir;  but  he  has  found  a  better  position,  in  some  foreign 
country,  I  believe." 

Andre  did  not  care  to  tell  the  truth  in  regard  to  Louis  Maibeuf 's 
disappearance,  and  with  good  reason.  M.  Chautepie,  who  was  ac- 
quainted with  the  tacts,  had  kept  the  secret,  and  Andre  could  hardly 
have  told  M.  Vernelle  without  confessing  his  own  fault. 

**  So,  when  your  day's  work  is  over,  you  are  left  alone?'*  remarked 
the  banker. 

"  Yes,  but  1  am  not  idle,*'  said  Subligny,  quickly.  **  1  have  so. 
many  things  to  learn  that  I  do  not  lack  occupation. ' ' 

"  Do  you  frequent  the  society  of  none  of  the  other  clerks?" 

**  1  see  Monsieur  Chautepie  occasionally." 

*'  Then  you  certainly  go  to  the  cajes,*'  replied  M.  Vernelle,  lauffh- 
ng.  **  Chautepie  is  a  model  cashier,  but  when  his  accounts  are  ad- 
justed, and  his  safe  locked  up,  he  thinks  only  of  his  pleasure,  and 
spends  his  time  in  playing  billiards  or  dominoes." 

'  1  have  accompanied  him  to  the  cafe  several  times  out  of  polite- 
Qess,  but  we  have  not  the  same  tastes." 

*  I  congratulate  you  on  the  fact,  and  advise  you  not  to  become 
too  intimate  with  him;  not  that  he  is  a  disreputable  man,  b}' any 
means,  but  he  was  very  differently  reared,  and  he  is  destined  to  re- 
main in  a  subordinate  position.     You  have  a  right  to  look  higher." 

**  You  are  very  kind,  sir.  Your  good  opinion  is  my  only  capital 
h  life,  however,  and  I  am' not  ambitious." 

*  But  you  ought  to  be.  i  was  no  better  off  than  you  are  when  1 
^egan  life,  and  you  see  that — " 

The  door  opened,  and  a  servant  appeared  to  announce  the  arrival 
[)f  the  physician.  y^ 

*'  Show  him  in,"  said  M.  Vernelle.  Then  turning  to  Andie,  who 
was  rising  to  leave  the  room,  he  added : 

* '  Remain,  my  friend.  The  doctor  will  decide  whether  I  can  safely 
%o  to  the  theater  this  evening.  You  had  better  stay  and  hear  his 
ilecision. 

Dr.  Valbregue  was  still  a  young  man,  though  he  had  won  a 
very  enviable  reputation  in  the  medical  world.  In  addition  to  his 
Incontestable  talent,  he  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  endowed  with  a 
most  prepossessing  face,  and  a  bright,  genial  manner  tinged  with 
tJiat  kiadly  brusquerie  which  has  such  a  charm  tor  all  rich  persons, 


52  BABIOLE,    THE    PEETTY    MILLIITER. 

The  mere  sipjlit  of  him  always  made  his  patients  feel  better,  and 
his  clear  eye  seemed  to  discern  what  was  troubling  their  inmost 
souls. 

He  smiled  at  Clemence,  bowed  to  Andre,  and  said  to  the  banker, 
as  he  shook  him  by  the  hand; 

••  Well,  how  does  the  bromide  suit  you?  Are  you  feeling  any  bet- 
ter?" 

*'  1  must  say  that  your  compound  is  the  most  nauseous  stu^f  imagi- 
nable, my  dear  doctor,"  M.  Yernelle  replied. 

**  Unfortunately  we  have  not  yet  devised  a  way  to  cure  nervous  dis- 
eases with  sweetened  water,"- was  the  doctor's  laughing  response. 
*'  The  question  is  whether  the  medicine  is  doing  you  any  good  or 
not?" 

"  Not  much,  1  am  afraid." 

'•  When  did  you  begin  taking  it?" 

'*  Last  week." 

*•  Well,  what  seems  to  be  the  difficulty  now?" 

*'  1  am  much  troubled  with  dizziness.  In  fact,  1  am  often  obliged 
to  cling  to  something  to  keep  myself  from  falling  when  I  am  walk- 
ing." 

"  That  is  the  natural  effect  of  the  medicine.  Is  that  your  princi- 
pal trouble?" 

'*No:  I  have  had  several  quite  severe  and  painful  spasms.  1 
cannot  sleep,  and  1  have  less  and  less  appetite  every  day." 

"  That  certainly  is  not  due  to  the  use  of  the  bromide.  Where  do 
you  purchase  the  compound?" 

"  Of  a  druggist  my  cashier  recommended  to  me." 

'*  Have  you  any  of  the  preparation  here?" 

**  Here  is  some,  doctor,"  said  Mile.  Vernelle,  drawing  a  small 
powder  from  her  pocket. 

**  Very  well,  1  will  take  it  away  with  me  and  have  it  analyzed. 
Experience  has  made  me  distrust tul  in  such  m.atters." 

"  Do  you  suppose  any  one  is  tr3ing  to  poison  me?"  asked  the 
banker,  laughing.  "  1  warn  you  that  you  will  get  into  trouble  with 
my  daughter  if  you  du,  for  it  is  she  who  administers  the  dose  just 
before  each  meal." 

'*  I  suppose  nothing  ol  the  kind.  1  do  not  even  accuse  the  drug- 
gist of  carelessness,  but  1  like  to  know  something  about  the  quality 
of  the  medicines  that  are  compounded  from  my  prescriptions.  The 
sligiitest  error  may  be  fatal  m  its  consequences.  Only  a  few  weetjs 
ago  1  lost  a  patient  who  had  taken  thirty  milligrammes  of 
strychnine,  instead  of  the  three  milligrammes  1  ordered." 

*'  You  frighten  me,  doctor.  1  sha'n't  dare  to  take  anything  after 
this.  Drugs  very  seldom  agree  with  me.  Why,  at  this  very  mo- 
ment every  muscle  in  my  body  seems  to  be  twitching  convulsively, 
and  1  feel  as  if  some  one  was  trying  to  strangle  me.  1  experience  the 
same  feeling  whenever  I  take  the  bromide." 

"  Well,  take  no  more  of  it  until  I  see  you  again,  and  in  the  mean- 
time, work  less.  1  am  almost  sure  that  you  devote  not  less  than  ten 
hours  a  day  to  your  business.  That  is  too  much,  entirely  too  much. 
You  must  have  rest  and  diversion." 

*'  And  go  to  the  theater  often,  must  he  not,  doctor?*'  ioterposed 
Clemence,  quickly. 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLIKER.  53 

"  Yes,  on  condition  that  he  sees  only  Dright  and  cheerful  plays. 
To  forget  his  cares  and  amuse  himself,  that  is  what  your  father 
needs. ' ' 

**  And  that  is  just  what  is  impossible  for  him  to  do,"  murmured 
the  banker. 

*'  Why?    Are  you  fond  of  music?'* 

"Very,  but — 

"  Weil,  neglect  no  good  opportunity  to  hear  some,  then.** 

**  We  think  of  going  to  heai  the  '  Pre-aux-Clercs  '  this  evening,** 
exclaimed  Clemence. 

'*  1  cordially  approve  this  new  remedy.  It  will  be  a  pleasant 
change  from  this  bromide  that  has  such  a  singular  effect  upon  you." 

"  Now,  father,  you  no  longer  have  any  excuse  for  refusing." 

"  ISo  1  will  noi  refuse.  We  will  go  to  the  Opera  Comique. 
Andre,  you  will,  I  hope,  accompany  us?" 

The  young  man  bowed,  coloring  with  pleasure,  and  as  the  doctor, 
who  had  never  met  him  before,  seemed  to  be  looking  at  him  at- 
tentively, M.  Yernelle  turned  to  him,  and  said: 

**  Monsieur  Subligny,  my  secretary." 

Andre  exchanged  bows  with  M.  Yalbregue,  who  next  proceeded 
to  subject  his  patient's  daughter  to  a  furtive  scrutiny. 

The  clever  physician  had  evidently  taken  in  the  situation  at  a 
glance,  and  to  judge  from  his  manner,  he  did  not  disapprove  of  it. 

*'  Now,  my  dear  financier,  1  must  leave  you,'*  he  said,  rising.  *'  1 
have  an  appointment  to  meet  four  of  my  brother  physicians  at  three 
o'clock.  We  are  to  hold  a  consultation  over  a  very  singular  case— a 
man  who  has  lost  his  memory  entirely  in  consequence  of  a  severe 
fall.** 

**  That  is  very  extraordinary,  certainly,**  murmured  M.  Vernelle, 
abstractedly. 

*'  Not  so  unusual  as  you  suppose.  Concussion  of  the  brain  often 
produces  this  effect,  though  1  have  never  seen  it  so  complete. 
Would  you  believe  it,  the  person  in  question  has  not  only  entirely 
forgotten  the  accident  that  reduced  him  to  this  condition,  but  has 
even  forgotten  his  name.  W  e  have  not  yet  been  able  either  to  dis- 
cover K^ho  he  is,  or  what  happened  to  him.  As  the  skull  sustained 
no  fracture,  he  recovered  very  rapidly  from  his  injuries.  He  talks, 
and  very  sensibly,  too,  about  matters  and  things  in  general,  but  he 
can  recall  nothing  whatever  of  the  past.*' 

*•  Are  you  sure  that  he  is  not  deceiving  j'ou,  doctor?** 

**  Perfectly  sure.  1  have  subiected  him  to  various  tests,  and 
always  with  the  same  result.  The  idea  that  he,  perhaps,  had  some 
reason  for  wishing  to  conceal  his  identity,  occurred  to  me,  as  it  did  to 
you,  so  the  police  were  informed  of  the  facts,  and  the  man  has  been 
examined  by  several  detectives  and  the  chief  of  Iftie  service.  No  one 
recognized  him.  He  does  not  resemble  a  malefactor  in  the  least. 
He  has  an  honest  face,  and  he  was  very  well  dressed  when  he  was 
picked  up  in  an  unconscious  state.*' 

**ln  the  street?" 

**  Yes,  and  the  strangest  thing  about  it  all  is,  that  he  did  not  meet 
with  this  fall  in  the -place  where  was  found.  The  wound  caused 
by  his  fall  must  have  bled  very  freely,  and  yet  there  was  no  blood  oe 


54  BABIOLI!,   THE    PRETTY    MILLIKER. 

the  pavement  of  the  Bonier  ard  des  Invalides,  where  some  laborers 
^ound  him  one  morning  as  they  were  going  to  work." 

"Then  it  is  not  imhkely  that  he  was  placed  there  after  having 
l)een  nearly  killed  in  some  drin king-saloon?" 

"  No;  an  examination  of  the  wound  satisfied  me  that  he  was  not 
injured  by  a  weapon,  but  that,  in  falling  from  a  considerable  height, 
his  head  came  in  Violent  contact  with  some  hard  body.  ]  cannot 
swear  that  such  was  the  case,  of  course,  but  I  am  inclined  to  believe 
that  after  a  more  or  less  prolonged  syncope  he  recovered  sufficiently 
to  get  upon  his  feet  and  walk  a  short  distance;  then  his  strength 
failing  him,  he  sunk  fainting  upon  the  sidewalk,  where  he  must  have 
spent  nearly  all  night,  for  he  was  half  frozen  when  he  was  brought 
to  the  hospital." 

*' That  is  very  strange.     But  had  he  no  papers  on  his  person?"      j 

'*  Not  a  letter,  nor  even  a  visiting  card;  nothing  but  about  sixty 
francs  in  his  pocket,  which  proves  that  he  was  not  the  victim  of  a  i 
midnight  assault.     Thieves  would  not  have  failed  to  search  and  rob  I 
him." 

**  It  is  not  strange  that  this  mystery  has  a  fascination  for  you." 

**  1  am  interested  in  it  only  from  a  medical  point  of  view." 

**  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  poor  fellow?  He  cannot 
remain  at  the  hospital  indefinitely." 

'•  1  think  of  sending  him  to  the  Saint  Ann  Asylum,  w^here  he 
will  be  received  as  a  demented  person,  though  he  really  is  not  one. 
But  I  have  not  lost  all  hope  of  curing  him,  and  I  shall  keep  him  as 
long  as  I  can,  for  his  case  is  worthy  of  careful  study. 

**  Besides,  the  police  are  naturally  inquisitive,  and  though  they 
have  ceased  to  investigate  the  affair,  they  would  not  be  sorry,  1 
think,  to  be  enlightened  in  regard  to  the  identity  of  this  unknown 
patient,  and  when  he  becomes  an  inmate  of  the  insane  asylum  no 
one  will  see  or  know  him;  but  where  he  is  now,  visitors  are  admitted 
twice  a  week — Thursday  and  Sunday— and  there  will  perhaps  be 
some  one  who  can  tell  us  the  name  of  the  man  we  call  Number  Nine- 
teen." 

"  Thursdays  and  Sundays?"  repeated  Andre,  who  had  listened 
with  much  interest  to  the  doctor's  story. 

*'  Yes,  sir,  from  one  to  three.  But  if  you  wish  to  see  my  patient 
you  had  better  come  in  the  morning  about  nine  o'clock,  while  I  am 
making  my  tour  of  inspection.  If  I  am  not  there,  ask  them  to  ad- 
mit you  to  the  Saint  Ferdinand  ward. 

'  I  will  call  to  see  you  again,  day  after  to-morrow,  my  dear  Mon- 
sieur Vernelle,"  he  added,  turning  again  to  the  banker,  '*  and  in  the 
meantime,  remember  my  prescription :  rest,  and  plenty  of  amuse- 
ment.    Mademoiselle,  1  leave  it  to  you  to  see  that  my  orders  are  , 
faithfully  carried  out." 

Having  jsaid  this,  the  doctor  took  leave  of  them  all  with  a  pleasant 
bow,  and  Monsieur  V^ernelle,  who  had  risen  to  accompany  him  to  the 
door,  returned,  shaking  his  head  sadly: 

"  Rest,  and  plent^y  of  amusement,"  he  said  softly.  "  One  cannot 
purchase  these  remedies  at  the  drug-store,  unfortunately." 

"  No,  but  one  can  find  them  elsewhere,"  replied  Clemence,  gently, 
**  and  we  will  see  that  you  have  them  this  evening,  will  we  not, 
Monsieur  Andre?" 


BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MTLLHSTER.  55 

**  I  should  be  only  too  happy  if  1  were  capable,  and  if  your  father 
would  permit  me,  to  contribute  to  his  amusement,"  stammered 
Subligny. 

*'  Then  it  is  settled,  my  friend.  You  must  join  us  at  the  theater 
this  evening.  Cleraence  will  tell  you  the  number  of  our  box.  1  do 
not  invite  you  to  dine  with  us  becRuse  you  will  be  detained  at  the 
office  a  little  later  than  usual  to-day,  if  yon  attend  to  the  matters  1 
spoke  to  you  about,  and  you  will  have  barely  time  to  dress.  Besides, 
1  have  to  go  out  now,  and  1  do  not  exactly  know  when  1  shall  get 
back." 

When  they  rose  from  the  table,  Andre  returned  to  the  office,  greatly 
preoccupied  by  what  he  had  just  seen  ana  heard.  During  this  repast 
which  had  lasted  only  three  quarters  of  an  hour,  he  had  learned  more 
new  things  about  the  establishment  than  during  the  whole  of  the 
preceding  month. 

In  the  first  place,  he  had  unwittingly  satisfied  himself  of  the  exist- 
ence oi  a  skeleton  in  the  household.  The  father  and  daughter  evi- 
dently had  some  secret  which  they  were  concealing  from  the  woild. 
The  emotion  they  had  been  unable  to  hide,  proved  this  fact  conclu- 
sively; and  that  this  secret  was  in  some  way  connected  with 
Clemence's  mother  was  equally  evident. 

The  remarks  of  Dr.  Valbr6gue  had  been  equally  surprising  to 
Andre.  That  physician  had  admitted  the  possibility  of  intended 
poisoning  by  the  substitution  of  one  drug  for  another,  and  spoken 
with  strange  indifference  of  the  mistake  which  had  cost  a  patient 
his  life. 

He  accused  and  could  accuse  no  one  of  intentionally  administer- 
ing a  poisonous  compound  to  the  banker,  but  the  precaution  he  had 
taken  indicated  olainly  enough  the  suspicion  which  had  occurred 
to  him,  but  which  Andre  considered  too  absurd  for  belief. 

The  strange  story  of  the  man  who  had  forgotten  everything,  even 
his  name,  had  made  a  much  deeper  impression  on  Andre's  mind, 
and  he  asked  himself  more  than  once,  if  there  could  be  any  connec- 
tion between  it  and  Louis  Marbeuf 's  mysterious  disappearance,  for 
this  strange  accident  would  explain  why  the  poor  fellow  had  givea 
no  signs  of  life. 

But  there  was  little  probability  that  Marbeuf  was  the  person  who 
had  been  picked  up  on  the  Boulevard  des  Invalides. 

After  dining  at  a  restaurant  on  the  corner  of  the  Faubourg  Mont- 
martre  and  the  Rue  Lafayette,  he  had  started  at  half -past  eight  in  the 
evening,  to  go  to  the  Rue  Bergere,  and  even  supposing  that  he  had 
not  found  Monsieur  Vernelle  there,  he  certainly  would  not  have  gone 
to  a  lonely  part  of  the  town,  on  the  other  side  of  the  liver,  to  look 
for  him. 

Besides,  what  could  have  become  of  the  bank-notes  he  had  in- 
trusted to  his  friend?  Had  they  been  taken  from  him,  or  had  he 
lost  them?"  Andre  asked  himself  these  and  many  other  questions 
without  being  able  to  answer  them  in  a  satisfactory,  or  even  plausi- 
ble fashion,  so  he  finally  resolved  to  take  advantage  of  Dr.  Val- 
bregue's  invitation  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  IN'ecker  Hospital,  and  see  the 
individual  in  question  with  his  own  eyes. 

But  he  had  very  little  hope  that  this  visit  would  result  in  the  dis- 
covery of  Marbeuf;  besides,  every  day,  except  Sunday,  he  was  busy 


56  BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY     .MlLLTKER.  ' 

at  the  office  from  nine  o'clock  to  six,  and  nolliing  in  the  world  could 
have  induced  him  to  neglect  any  of  liis  duties  as  secretary.  So,  hav- 
ing once  entered  the  ollice,  and  begun  his  daily  work,  he  gradually 
iorgot  the  incidents  of  the  breakfast,  or  rather  he  recollected,  of 
them,  only  the  encouraging  welcome  of  the  banker  and  the  equally 
encouraging  glances  of  Mademoiselle  Clemence,  for  Andre  had  read 
in  the  girl's  eyes  that  he  was  not  iDdifterent  to  her. 

She  had  almost  made  advances  to  him,  and  his  father,  who  had 
certainly  perceived  the  fact,  did  not  disapprove,  as  he  had  offered 
Subligny  a  seat  in  his  box  at  the  theater. 

And  yet,  his  joy  was  not  unalloyed.  He  would  have  preferred] 
his  progress  toward  the  goal  to  be  less  rapid.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
the  lather  and  daughter  did  not  know  him  well  enough  to  give  him 
so  ruuch  encouragement.  He  could  not  suspect  them  of  being  actu- 
ated by  mercenary  motives,  but  he  felt  that  there  must  be  some  rea- 
son for  the  marked  preference  they  showed  him. 

Instead  of  flattering  himself  that  he  owed  it  solely  to  his  personal 
attractions  and  worth,  he  concluded  that  there  must  be  some  stain 
on  the  family  honor,  and  that  it  was  perhaps  to  this  stain  that  he 
was  indebted  for  having  been  chosen  in  spite  of,  or  rather  on  ac- 
count of,  his  poverty,  because  it  was  supposed  that  he  would  be  less 
exacting. 

These  suppositions,  though  purely  chimerical,  were  by  no  means 
agreeable;  nevertheless,  he  realized  that  nis  heart  was  given  beyond 
any  possibditv  of  recall  to  his  employer's  charming  daughter.  After 
all,  what  did  Monsieur  Chautepie's  comments  matter  to  him?  He 
was  not  in  the  least  inclined  to  follow  his  counsels,  but  it  would  be 
the  grossest  folly  to  refuse  the  happiness  which  seemed  likely  to  be 
offered  for  his  acceptance. 

So  he  continued  to  dream  of  joys  that  the  coming  evening  had  ic 
store  for  him,  and  he  made  more  than  one  mistake  in  the  writing 
intrusted  to  him. 

And  yet,  no  one  was  there  to  disturb  him,  for  M.  Vernelle  had 
gone  out  immediately  after  bieakfast,  and  had  announced  that  he 
probably  would  not  return  until  late. 

This  absence  was  highly  significant  Nothing  save  matters  of  the 
greatest  importance  could"^  have  induced  the  banker  to  abandon  the 
superintendence  of  his  business,  even  momentarily;  hence,  it  seemed 
not  improbable  that  he  was  making  some  desperate  effort  to  main- 
tain his  credit,  or  negotiating  a  loan  to  repair  the  breach  made  by  a 
delinquent  debtor  and  unfortunate  speculations. 

Andre  could  do  nothing,  but  he  said  to  himself  that  misfortune 
seemed  to  have  fallen  upon  this  formerly  prosperous  house,  almost 
simultaneously  with  his  entrance  into  it;  and  he  wondered  if  h€ 
might  not  have  what  is  familiarly  known  as  the  evil  eye. 

These  reflections,  and  otheis  of  a  similar  character,  marred  not  a 
little  his  anticipations  of  a  pleasant  evening  with  Mile.  Vernelle,  whr 
seemed  not  to  have  the  slightest  suspicion  of  her  father's  flnancia] 
embarrassment. 

Immediately  after  breakfast,  she  had  sent  Andre  the  number  of 
the  loge,  with  a  message  to  the  effect  that  she  should  certainly  exped 
to  see  him.  It  was  evident  that  she  looked  forward  with  great  pleas- 
ure to  listening  to  her  favorite  opera  in  such  good  company. 


BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLINER.  -5? 

Andre,  in  spite  of  his  anxiet3%  resolved  to  keep  the  appointment, 
and  made  all  possible  haste  to  finish  his  correspondence  in  order  ta 
return  home,  dress  himself,  and  dine  early,  so  as  nut  to  keep  hci 
waitino:. 

He  finally  completed  the  last  letter  he  had  to  write,  and  he  was 
about  to  place  them  all  upon  M.  YerneDe's  desk  so  they  could  be 
si.2;ned  before  his  employer's  departure  for  the  theater,  when  he  heard 
the  bell  of  the  telephone  rin.2:. 

The  banker  often  made  use  of  this  ingenious  invention  in  com- 
municating with  his  prmcipal  clients,  andlt  was  usually  his  secretary 
who  applied  his  ear  to  the  tube,  and  transmitted  the  questions  to  hii 
employer,  who  gave  his  answers  without  rising  trom  his  chair. 

Andre  thought  it  his  duty  to  act  exactly  as  if  M.  Yernelle  were 
there,  and  then,  if  the  question  proved  puzzling,  to  reply  that  his 
employer  was  absent. 

He  therefore  approached  the  instrument,  inquired  who  the  speaker 
was,  and  waited. 

'*ltis  Jean  Bertand,"  replied  the  telephone.  **Are  you  there? 
There  is  a  reaction  in  the  market.** 

The  name  of  Bertand  made  Andre  start. 

Bertand  was  the  owner  of  the  famous  eight  hundred  thousand 
francs— the  speculator  whose  speedy  ruin  had  been  predicted  by  M. 
Chautepie,  and  with  whom  M.  Vernelle  had  entered  into  a  sort  of 
partnership  in  stock  speculations. 

Andre  had  met  this  bold  speculator  often,  and  was.  indeed,  quite  a 
favorite  with  him,  though  he  had  never  made  any  attempt  to  win  his 
good  opinion,  for  he  disliked  him  thoroughly. 

Bertand  had  all  the  failings  common  io parvenus.  He  was  arrogant, 
ill-bred  and  vain.  He  boasted  of  his  wealth  on  every  occasion,  and 
snubbed  every  one  who  was  not  rich;  and  yet,  he  honored  Subligny 
with  friendly  hand  shakes  which  the  latter  would  certainly  have  re- 
fused had  he  been  in  a  situation  to  do  it. 

But  Subligny  was  well  aware  that  Bertand*s  interests  were  closely 
allied  with  those  of  his  employer,  and  he  felt  sure  that  the  coming 
communication  had  reference  solely  to  the  crisis  which  threatened 
to  involve  both  men  in  ruin. 

*'  There  is  a  reaction,"  Bertand  had  said,  through  the  telephone, 
and  this  was  evidently  the  preface  to  news  from  the  Bourse — per- 
haps good,  perhaps  bad,  but  important,  in  either  case. 

Haa  a  secretary  a  right  to  receive  it  m  his  employer's  stead?  An- 
dre thought  not,  and  hastily  replied: 

*'  Monsieur  Vernelle  has  gone  out,  and  did  not  say  when  he  would 
return." 

Then  he  listened,  expecting  to  hear  something  like:  **  Tell  him 
that  I  will  call  to  see  him  at  such  an  hour,"  or,  "  Who  are  you?  Are 
you  authorized  to  take  his  place?" 

But,  to  his  intense  surprise,  the  response  was: 

*'  So  much  the  better.  We  can  talR  freely.  1  am  glad  to  tell  you 
that  we  are  both  sate.    1  have  hedged." 

And,  as  Andre  was  silent,  the  telephone  continued: 

"  Come  and  take  supper  at  the  Holder  at  midnight.  1  will  ex- 
plain the  trick  to  you,  and  we  will  laugh  over  it  together.  There  will 
be  some  ladies  there.    The  guilty  mother  has  unearthed  a  girl  who 


68  BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLINER. 

is  a  morsel  for  a  king.    It  you  will  come,  I'll  see  that  there  is  an- 
other." 

This  was  going  entirel}'  too  far.  This  communicatioa  c^'ild  not 
be  addressed  to  Slonsieui  Veruelle,  the  grave  and  irreproachable; 
family  man.  . 

Andre  dropped  the  tube  that  had  brought  him  this  strange  mes- 
sage. He  did  not  wish  to  hear  any  more,  still  less  to  be  obliged  to 
reply  to  it,  and  he  was  about  to  resume  his  seat,  when  the  sudden 
opening  of  the  little  window  that  connected  the  cashier's  office  with; 
that  ot  his  employer,  made  him  turn  his  head. 

"  With  whom  are  you  talking?'*  inquired  M.  Chautepie,  with  his; 
elbow  on  the  sill. 

**  With  Monsieur  Bertand,"  replied  Andre,  **  but  I  can  make  ] 
sense  out  of  what  he  is  saying.  I  began  by  informing  him  that 
Monsieur  Yernelle  was  not  here,  and  he  replied  by  telling  me  some- 
thing about  a  trick  he  has  played  upon  some  one,  and  about  a  sup 
per." 

*'  Oh,  there  must  be  some  mistake.  That  communication  was  not 
addressed  to  our  employer,  of  course.  Some  one  has  made  a  mis- 
take.    1  would  pay  no  further  attention  to  it." 

Andre  knew  that  the  telephone  had  two  tubes,  one  ot  which  was 
in  the  cashier's  office,  so  it  was  not  difficult  tor  him  to  explain  the 
mistake. 

Bertand  supposed  he  w^s  talking  to  Chautepie,  and  Chautepie, 
warned  a  little  too  late,  made  haste  to  divert  the  conversation  t(i 
himself,  through  his  own  tube.  But  he  brought  it  to  a  hasty  termi* 
nation,  for  about  two  minutes  afterward,  he  returned  to  the  window, 
and  said  with  a  slightly  embarrassed  air: 

"  Bertand  is  certainly  losing  his  senses.  He  is  engaged  in  specu- 
lations which  may  ruin  him,  and  yet  he  thinks  only  of  gadding 
about.  It  was  me  he  was  inviting  to  go  on  a  lark  with  him  to-night, 
but  you  had  better  believe  that  1  sent  him  about  his  business." 

**  1  did  not  know  that  you  were  so  intimate  with  him,"  remaiked 
Subligny. 

**  Oh,  intimate  is  not  the  word„  Bertand  is  a  hon  mvant.  He 
denies  himself  nothing,  and  occasionally  gives  very  fine  dinners,  to 
w^hich  he  invites  me.  I  accept  because  1  am  fond  of  good  eating; 
but  that  does  not  prevent  me  from  keepinc:  him  at  a  distance,  and  it 
he  loses  everything,  why,  so  much  the  worse  for  him." 

"  It  does  not  seem  very  probable  that  he  will.  He  just  remarked 
' 'irough  the  telephone  that  he  had  hedged,  and  that  you  had  noth^ 
dig  to  fear. ' ' 

"  Oh,  1  understand.  I  asked  him  about  a  week  ago  to  buy  me  i 
8W  shares  ot  Northern  Railway  stv>ck — a  little  speculation  quite 
within  my  means.  But  it  is  five  o  clock,"  he  added,  turning  ic 
glance  at  tlip.  clock  upon  his  desk.  "  I  am  going  to  shut  up  shop 
now,  and  1  advise  you  to  do  the  same.  Monsieur  Yernelle  will  not 
be  back  until  dinner-time.  Come  and  take  a  glass  of  absinthe  with 
me  at  the  Cafe  Frontin  " 

"  Thanks,  but  1  never  cUink  cabsinthe.  Besides,  1  have  some  mat- 
ters at  home  to  attend  to.  ^^ 

"  Then  we  will  give  it  up.  and  I  will  accompany  you  as  far  as 
your  door.    It  is  on  my  way,  you  know." 


BABIOLE^   THE    PRETTY    MILLIKER^  69 

Andre  felt  a  strong  inclination  to  refuse,  for  M.  Cliautepie's  soci- 
ety was  becoming  more  and  more  distfistetul  to  him;  but  he  remem- 
bered that  M.  Chautepic  must  know  what  had  become  of  Mme. 
Vernelle,  and  this  was  a  good  opportunity  to  question  him  in  an 
indirect  manner,  and  without  appearing  to  attach  any  importance 
to  the  matter. 

"Very  well,'*  he  replied,  after  a  moment's  reflection.  "  1  am 
going  down  now.     Meet  me  in  the  courtyard." 

Chautepie  closed  the  window.  The  telephone  had  become  mute. 
Subtiguy  slathered  up  the  letters,  placed  them  on  the  banker's  desk, 
took  I'lis  hat,  and  left  the  room. 

The  cfishier  was  awaiting  him  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  slip- 
ping his  arm  through  that  of  Subligny,  he  asked,  ga3iy: 

"  Well,  how  did  the  breakfast  pass  off,  and  how  is  your  affair  with 
Mademoiselle  Clemence  progressing?" 

*'  What  affair?"  asked  Subligny,  coldly. 

*'  Your  love-affair,  ot  course.  The  father  was  present,  1  know, 
but  he  cannot  see  beyond  the  end  of  his  nose,  and  you  might  easily 
have  scored  a  pointer  two;  but  unfortunately,  I  can  see  by  your 
face,  that  you  have  not  yet  abjured  the  role  ot  a  silent  lover." 

**  1  never  told  you  that  1  was  in  love." 

**  True,  but  it  is  eas}^  enough  to  see  that  you  are;  and  1  repeat  that 
your  success  depends  entirely  upon  yourself.  "You  cannot  expect 
Mademoiselle  Clemence  to  drop  into  your  arms  without  the  askmg, 
of  course.  Vernelle  and  his  daughter  are  going  to  the  Opera 
Comique  this  evening.  If  1  were  in  your  place,  1  would  drop  in 
there,  and  then  go  and  pay  your  respects  to  our  employer,  who  could 
hardly  fail  to  offer  you  a  seat  in  his  box.  It  would  be  strange,  in- 
deed, if  some  time  during  the  performance,  he  did  not  leave  you 
alone  with  his  daughter.  In  that  case,  make  the  most  of  your  op- 
portunity, and,  above  all,  do  not  fail  to  extort  from  her  a  promise  to 
marry  you.  The  father  will  perhaps  growl  a  little  when  his  daugh- 
ter confesses  that  she  has  engaged  herself  without  his  permission, 
but  1  know  him — he  would  give  his  consent  eventually." 

Andie'  might  have  replied  that  he  had  already  received  an  invita- 
tion to  join  the  father  and  daughter  at  the  theater;  but  he  was  un- 
willing to  confide  his  good  foitune  to  a  nian  whose  intentions  he 
could  not  consider  above  suspicion. 

He  even  felt  that  the  moment  had  come  to  put  an  end  to  these 
troublesome  importunities. 

*  Pardon  me,"  he  said,  impatiently,  **  but  1  really  would  like  to 
know  why  you  evince  so  much  interest  on  this  subject.  You  re- 
minded me  this  morning  that  I  was  under  obligations  to  you.  I 
have  nut  forgotten  the  fact,  and,  though  it  is  my  warmest  desire 
to  repay  the  m.oney  you  advanced  to  me,  1  am  not  disposed  to  submit 
to  unreasonable  exactions  on  your  part.  1  would  rather  confess  my 
fault  to  Monsieur  Vernelle  than  relinquish  to  you  my  right  to  manage 
my  own  affairs  according  to  my  liking." 

The  shot  told.     M.  Chautepie  suddenly  changed  his  tone. 

"  You  do  wrong  to  take  offense,  my  dear  fellow,**  he  said,  with  a 
contrite  air.  "  1  never  once  thought  of  trying  to  exert  any  author- 
ity  over  you,  and  Heaven  forbid  that  1  skould  taunt  you  with  the 
service  rendeied  you.    You  are  at  perfect  liberty  to  many  or  not,  as 


60  BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLINER. 

you  please,  of  course,  only  where  there  is  a  will,  there  is  a  way,  and 
it  you  are  so  anxious  to  tree  yourselt  trom  your  debt  to  me — " 

*"  1  am  very  anxious  to  do  so,  of  course,  but  if  Monsieur  Vernelle 
is  on  the  brink  of  ruin,  as  you  pretend,  it  is  not;  by  marrying  his 
daughter  that  1  shall  be  able  to  pa}^  you." 

**  He  is  in  great  clanger,  but  he  may  escape  ruin,  for  all  that.  1 
hope,  indeed,  that  Bertand  will  save  him;  and  in  any  case.  Made- 
moiselle Vernelle  will  have  the  fortune  of  her  mother,  who  married 
under  the  dotal  regime." 

'*  iler  mother!"  exclaimed  Subligny,  remembering  the  scene  at 
the  breakfast-table. 

"  Yes;  she  had  six  hundred  thousand  francs,  which  were  of  grewt 
assistance  to  Vernelle  in  starting  his  banking-house,  and  which  still 
remain  intact."  ] 

"  The  lady  is  dead,  is  she  not?" 

**  No,  indeed.  On  the  contrary,  1  imagine  she  is  in  an  excellent 
state  of  preservation." 

"  What!  is  not  Monsieur  Vernelle  a  widower?" 
.  **  No;  unfortunately  for  him.  It  is  ten  years,  however,  since  his 
wife  left  him.  She  ran  away  one  fine  morning  with  a  gentleman — 
who  was  not  her  first  lover,  by  any  means.  Nothing  has  been 
heard  of  her  since  her  flight,  and  many  persons  suppose  that  she  u 
in  America.  1  thought  you  were  aware  of  this,  for  your  father  knew 
it,  and  1  am  surprised  that  he  never  spoke  to  you  about  our  employ- 
er's domestic  troubles." 

"  He  never  did." 

**  That  explains  youv  ignorance,  then.  He  probably  had  his  rea- 
sons for  being  silent.  But  you  seem  to  be  overcome  with  consterna- 
tion. How  absurd !  Mademoiselle  Clemence  is  not  to  blame  for  her 
mother's  delinquencies.  I  will  vouch  for  her  virtue,  and  j^ou  can 
marry  her  in  all  confidence,  if  your  heart  prompts  you  to  do  so.  But 
here  you  are  at  your  own  door,  and  as  you  don't  like  absinthe,  I 
will  leave  you.  bon't  forget  my  counsels.  Strike  while  the  iron  is 
hot,  and  good  luck  to  you!" 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Makch  had  scarcely  begun,  and  yet,  strange  to  say,  the  weather 
was  delightful — one  of  those  warm  springlike  evenings  which  so 
often  presage  a  coming  storm,  but  vvhich  draw  even  the  most  quiet 
Parisians  out  of  doors. 

The  boulevards  were  crowded;  and  there  was  a  great  competitiou 
for  seats  in  front  of  the  cafea. 

Andre,  taking  advantage  of  the  pleasant  weather,  walked  to  the 
tlieater,  where  he  was  to  meet  M.  Vernelle  and  his  daughter. 

He  had  dined  alone  at  a  little  restaurant  on  the  Boulevard  Bonne- 
Nouvelle,  and,  though  he  had  dressed  before  dinner,  it  was  still 
eatly,  so  he  was  not  obliged  to  hurry. 

The  performance  did  not  begin  until  nine  o'clock,  and  he  did  not 
care  to  be  the  first  to  reach  a  box  in  which  he  now  almost  regretted 
having  accepted  a  seat. 

Never  had  he  telt  less  inclined  to  en  joy  the  p  leasure  of  listening  to 
really  good  music. 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLIKER.  61 

M.  Chautepie's  revelations  had  indeed  filled  Andre  with  profound 
consternation.  Nothing  could  be  more  distasteful  to  hioi  ihan  the 
idea  of  entering  into  the  plans  ot  this  man  who  was  urging  him  into 
this  marriage  with  such  strange  persistence,  but  who  seemed,  at  the 
same  time,  to  take  pleasure  in  showing  him  the  skeletons  in  the 
Vernelle  houseliold;  the  disgrace  that  had  clouded  the  past,  and  the 
probabilit.y  of  future  ruin. 

Andre  understood  now  why  Clemeuce  had  hung  her  head,  when 
he  spoke  of  her  mother;  and  he  wondered  more  and  more  why  he 
had  nevei  before  heard  a  word  in  relation  to  this  most  unfortunate 
affair. 

His  parents  could  not  have  been  ignorant  of  it.  Why,  then,  had 
they  neglected  to  mention  it  to  him,  it  only  to  prevent  him  from 
committing  a  painful  blunder,  like  that  of  the  mornin<T;?  They 
might  have  foreseen  what  would  happen. 

It  was  necessary,  too,  for  him  to  look  the  situation,  as  described 
to  him  by  the  cashier,  calmly  in  the  face. 

■  What  was  Chautepie's  object  in  urging  him  to  marry  the  banker's 
daughter?  Was  it  really  because  he  hoped,  in  this  way,  to  secure 
the  speedy  payment  of  the  money  advanced  to  Andre?  Subligny 
was  beginning  to  doubt  it,  and  to  wonder  if  Chautepie  was  not  se- 
cretly conspirino;  against  his  employer;  and  if  M.  Bertand  was  not 
in  league  with  him.  This  speculator,  who  sent  such  singular  mes- 
sages through  the  telephone,  did  not  seem  to  be  very  anxious  to  ex- 
tricate his  partner,  Vernelle,  from  his  financial  embarrassment.  On 
the  contrary,  he  seemed  to  think  only  of  saving  himself;  and  judg- 
ing from  what  he  said,  he  had  succeeded.  Hence  it  seemed  very 
natural  to  suppose  that  Chautepie  was  in  league  with  him,  and  tliat 
the  two  men  were  betraying  the  banker  to  whom  they  both  owed  so 
much. 

Should  he  denounce  them?  Andre  thought  of  doing  so;  but  he 
could  furnish  no  convincing  proofs  of  the  justice  of  his  suspicions; 
besides,  he  could  not  forirei  that  Cfiautepie  had  saved  him  by  loan- 
ing him  a  hundred  thousand  trancs  to  replace  the  money  which  had 
disappeared  with  Louis  Marbeuf.  Whatever  his  secret  motive  might 
liave  been,  the  act  was  none  the  less  meritorious,  and  Andre  remained 
his  debtor. 

Andre  could  not  repay  this  kindness  with  ingratitude,  but  he  was 
resolved  not  to  submit  to  his  authority.  There  was  one  way  to  es- 
cape from  it,  and  but  one. 

That  was  to  throw  himself  at  M.  Vernelle's  feet,  tell  him  all,  and 
leave  his  late  in  the  hands  ot  his  father's  old  friend. 

But  if  he  did  this,  he  would  be  obliged  to  renounce  Clemence. 
M.  Vernelle  niight  forgive  a  misdemeanor  on  the  part  of  his  secre- 
tary, but  he  would  not  give  his  daughter  to  a  man  whom  his  cashier 
must  hold  in  only  mediocre  esteem  from  the  fact  that  he  had  com- 
mitted a  fault  that  must  appear  inexcusable  in  his  eyes. 

Andre  lacked  the  necessaiy  courage  to  do  this.  While  he  could 
not  bear  the  idea  of  obeying  the  scarcely  disguised  orders  of  h*s 
benefactor,  it  cost  him  still  more  to  sacrifice  his  dearest  hopes. 

And  what  a  moment  this  would  be  to  retire  trom  the  field  I  Just 
as  financial  ruin  seemed  about  to  overtake  M.  Vernelle,  and  the 


62  BABIOLE,   THE    PKETTY    MILLIKER. 

torraer  millionaire's  only  child  was  in  danger  of  finding  herself  witl 
out  a  dowry,  and  without  a  luture! 

"It  would  be  cowardly,"  Anare  said  to  himself,  as  he  walked  i 
thoughtfully  along  the  broad  sidewalk  that  borders  the  Boulevard  ; 
des  Italiens.     '*  Before  coming  to  a  decision,  ]  will  await  further 
developments.     1  will  display  a  prudent  reserve  in  my  intercourse 
with  the  lather  and  daughter,     i  will  also  keep  a  sharp  watch  on  ' 
Monsieur  Chautepie,  and  if  he  ventures  to  give  me  advice  which  is 
too  much  like  orders,  1  will  tell  him  very  plainly  that  1  must  be 
allowed  to  manage  my  own  atlairs,  let  the  result  be  what  it  may. 

"  Should  he  declare  war  against  me,  1  shall  try  to  find  some  weap- 
ons that  will  enable  me  to  hold  my  own.  1  will  question  the  young 
girl  who  told  me  to  beware  of  him.  She  knows  his  pas^  and  she 
will  tell  me  what  he  has  done. 

'*  Poor  Babiole!  I  have  deterred  thanking  her  too  long.  1  really 
owe  my  lile  to  her.  If  she  had  not  come  in  just  as  I  picked  up 
Marbeuf's  revolver,  1  should  have  been  lying  under  the  sod  a  month. 
To-morrow  is  Sunday;  I  shall  be  at  liberty,  and  I  will  take  ad- 
vantage ot  the  opportunity  to  go  and  see  her.  She  will  not  be  at 
work  that  day,  and  1  hope  I  shall  find  her  at  home.  She  told  me 
that  hei  employer  sometimes  took  her  to  the  Champs-Ely  sees;  but  1 
will  call  very  early." 

Absorbed  in  these  reflections,  Andre  reached  the  intersection  of 
the  boulevard  and  the  Rue  Marivaux  almost  before  he  knew  it. 

The  performance  began  at  eight  o'clock,  for  a  short  piece  preced- 
ed the  principal  one.  It  w^as  now  the  first  intermission,  and  many 
of  the  audience  had  come  out,  and  were  standing  on  the  steps,  while 
many  new-comers  were  just  going  in,  arjd  there  was  a  long  line  of 
carriages  in  the  street  in  front  of  the  theater. 

Andre  paused  a  moment,  near  a  new^spaper-stand,  to  wait  until  the 
crush  that  is  always  produced  when  some  are  going  in  and  others 
are  coming  out,  should  be  over. 

He  did  not  think  it  probable  that  M.  Vernelle  had  yet  arrived, and; 
he  hoped  to  recognize  the  banker's  carriage  as  it  passed. 

While  watching  tor  it,  he  suddenly  caught  sight  ot  a  man  whom 
he  fancied  he  recognized,  standing 'on  the  outer  edge  of  the  side-, 
w^alk.  This  person,  who  was  of  medium  height,  but  very  stout,  had 
in  his  hand  an  enormous  bouquet  which  was  enveloped  in  paper, 
and  which  he  seemed  to  be  trying  to  hide  under  his  overcoat,  which 
was  unbuttoned. 

Andre  soon  saw  that  he  was  not  mistaken,  for  a  sudden  change  of 
attitude  disclosed  to  his  view  the  coarse  red  face  of  Bertand,  the 
speculator  who  had  put  the  telephone  to  such  a  good  use. 

*'  What  can  he  be  waiting  for?"  Andre  said  to  hiriiseU,  stepping 
back  in  the  shadow  of  the  little  newspaper  pavilion.  "Probably 
,  for  the  creatures  he  has  invited  to  supper.  It  is  not  time  yet;  but 
perhaps  he  sent  them  to  the  theater  while  he  attended  to  some  busi- 
ness at  the  petite  Bourse.  Possibly  he  has  learned  through  his 
friend,  Chautepie,  that  Monsieur  Vernelle  will  be  at  the  theater  this 
evening,  and  he  does  not  want  to  run  any  risk  of  meeting  him.  In 
either  case,  1  did  well  not  to  tell  Chautepie  that  1  was  coming,  and 
1  had  rather  Bertand  did  not  see  me." 

Having  come  to  this  very  sensible  conclusion,  Audre  turned  ud 


BABIOLE,    THE    PliETTY    MILLINER.  63 

the  collar  of  his  overcoat,  pulled  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes  and 
kept  quiet. 

A  tew  seconds  after  he  saw  a  hackney  coach  draw  up  beside  the 
curbstone. 

*'  Here  are  the  poor  creatures  this  boor  has  picked  up,"  murmured 
Subligny,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "1  piiy  them  with  all  my 
heart."' 

M.  Bertand  sprung  forward  to  open  the  door,  andofterc  d  his  hand 
to  a  lady  of  an  uncertain,  or  rather  a  certain  age,  and  an  imposing 
embonpoint. 

She  almost  fell  into  the  arms  of  the  speculator;  but  it  was  not  for 
her  the  bouquet  was  intended,  for  he  lost  no  time  in  getting  rid  of 
her,  and  in  turning  again  to  the  carriage  m  which  another  lady  was 
seated. 

This  occupant,  however,  seemed  to  be  in  no  haste  to  alight,  and 
the  stout  woman,  in  tact,  was  obliged  to  resort  to  earnest  entreaties 
to  induce  her  to  do  so. 

She  finally  stepped  out;  and  while  Bertand  was  paying  the  coach- 
man, she  took  the  arm  of  the  matron  who  accompanied  her. 

It  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  ihat  Andre  repressed  a  cry  of 
surprise. 

He  had  recognized  Babiole,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  a  dagger 
had  suddenly  pierced  his  heart. 

Still,  he  was  not  an  unsophisticated  j^outh  by  any  means.  lie  had 
seen  a  good  deal  of  life,  and  under  any  ordinary  circumstances  it 
would  not  have  sui prised  him  in  the  least  to  see  a  pretty  ndlliner 
accept  the  attentions  of  a  rich  libertine. 

But  Babiole  was  no  ordinary  person  in  his  eyes;  they  w^ere  bound 
together  b;'  a  mutual  svmpathy,  and  she  had  rendered  him  a  service 
that  he  could  not  forget. 

And  now  all  his  illusions  were  rudely  dispelled.  Instead  of  the 
modest  and  industrious  young  girl  he  had  supposed  her  to  be,  she 
now  appeared  to  him  in  thelight  of  a  frivolous  and  unprincipled 
creature  ready  to  sell  herself  to  the  first  comer. 

lie  saw  Bertand  present  his  bouquet,  Babiole  refuse  it,  and  the 
matron  accept  it,  after  a  series  of  protestations  that  seemed  inter- 
minable. 

Grisettes  do  not  usually  show  such  a  w^ant  of  appreciation  of  the 
gallantries  of  wealthy  gentlemen;  and  from  his  former  neighbor's 
resistance  Andre  concluded  that  she  was  not  prepared  for  ^uch  an 
attention,  nor,  indeed,  for  a  meeting  with  this  broker. 

That  she  had  come  of  her  own  free  will  w^as  unquestionable,  nor 
did  that  fact  compromise  her  in  the  least.  She  had  told  Subligny 
that  she  adored  the  theater,  and  that  her  employer  took  her  there 
occasionally;  but  she  might  be  ignorant  that  this  employer  had  made 
an  appointment  with  a  wielded  and  unscrupulous  man. 

Everything  seemed  to  indicate  that  this  was  really  the  fact. 

The  stout,  showily-dressed  woman  had  every  appearance  of  being 
the  proprietor  of  a  second-class  millinery  establishment;  and  Babi- 
ole's  sulky  manner  showed  plainly  enough  that  Bertand's  company 
was  anything  but  agreeable  to  her. 

The  old  scoundrel  finally  coacluded  to  beat  ^  retreat;  but  he  clid 


C4  BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLINER. 

not  go  until  after  he  had  held  a  private  conversation  with  the  elder 
of  the  two  ladies. 

It  was  short,  and  evidently  satisfactory,  for  Bertand  walked  away 
with  a  complacent  air. 

Babiole  and  the  woman  who  acted  as  her  chaperon e  then  entered 
the  theater,  and  Andre,  who  had  thus  far  escaped  observation,  took 
good  care  not  to  show  himself. 

This  unexpected  meeting  had  changed  the  whole  current  of  his 
thoughts.  He  had  not  forgotten  Mile.  Vernelle,  but  he  could  not 
drive  from  his  mind  this  mere  child  who  had  saved  his  life,  and  who 
was  now  evidently  in  great  danger,  exposed  as  she  was  to  the 
machinations  of  an  unscrupulous  libertine  and  a  shameless  creature 
who  accompanied  her,  not  to  protect  her,  but  to  deliver  her  into  the 
clutches  of  a  rich  accomplice. 

"  And  shall  1  permit  this?'*  muttered  Andre,  stamping  his  foot 
angrily.  **  1,  who  have  already  delivered  her  once  from  the  persecu- 
tion of  a  passer-by,  and  whom  she  has  repaid  an  hundred-fold!  1 
should  indeed  be  the  worst  of  cowards  if  I  did.  I  will  watch  over 
her  during  the  performance,  and  when  it  is  over,  I  will  be  on  hand 
to  see  her  safely  home." 

An  instant's  reflection  moderated  this  aidor,  however.  Subligny 
recollected  that  it  would  be  impossible  tor  him  to  leave  M.  Yernelle's 
box  during  the  performance,  and  that  afterward  he  could  not  do 
otherwise  than  escort  his  friends  to  their  carriage;  besides,  Mile. 
Vernelle  had  good  eyes,  and  she  would  not  fail  to  notice  if  he  took 
it  into  his  head  to  talk  with  a  young  and  pretty  girl. 

And  he  was  more  than  ever  anxious 'not  to  offend  her,  for  this 
evening  would  perhaps  decide  his  whole  destiny.  He  had  no  inten- 
tion of  proceeding  as  hastily  as  M.  Chaiitepie  advised;  but  he  had  a 
presentiment  that  some  chance  would  bring  about  a  decisive  explana- 
tion between  Clemence  and  himself. 

How  was  he  to  reconcile  these  hopes  with  his  resolve  to  defend 
Babiole?  He  finally  decided  that  the  best  thing  for  him  to  do  was 
to  give  no  sign  of  his  presence  at  the  theater,  but  to  be  on  hand  at 
the  critical  moment. 

He  knew  that  Bertand  intended  to  take  the  ladies  to  the  Cafe 
Heldertosup;  consequently,  he  had  only  to  be  in  advance  of  the 
party  and  stand  guard  at  the  door  of  the  restaurant  to  prevent  the 
girl  from  entering  it. 

He  did  not  even  ask  himself  if  she  would  accept  him  as  an  escort, 
or  what  would  be  the  consequences  of  his  interference,  and  if,  for 
example,  Bertand  might  not  take  his  revenge  in  telling  M.  Yernelle 
that  his  secretary  was  the  lover  of  a  certain  pretty  milliner. 

Andre  gave  the  number  of  the  box  to  an  usher,  and  as  he  ascend- 
ed the  stairs,  he  had  the  mortification  of  finding  that  the  first  act  of_ 
the  **  Pre-aux-Clercs  "  had  just  begun, 

A  lover  should  never  be  late.  Andre  had  made  a  bad  beginning. 
He  was  obliged  to  summon  all  his  courage  before  he  ventured  to 
enter  the  box,  for  he  feared  he  would  be  ungraciously  received;  but 
a  pleasant  surprise  awaited  him. 

Two  hands  were  cordially  extended  to  him;  and  the  father  waved 
him  to  a  seat  beside  the  daughter,  who,  in  turn,  smilingly  motioiieci 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLIJ^TER.  65 

him  to  be  silent  and  listen  to  the  music,  for  the  cnitain  had  risen, 
and  she  was  unwilling  to  lose  a  single  note  of  Herold's  music. 

Andre  noticed  with  a  sensation  of  profound  relief  that  M.  Vtr- 
nelle's  face  was  much  more  serene  than  in  the  morning,  and  he  felt 
satisfied  that  the  business  matters  which  had  troubled  ihe  banker 
were  now  satisfactorily  adjusted. 

Bertand  had  probably  saved  himself  by  some  clever  maneuver, 
and  his  f)artner  had  profited  by  his  shrewdness. 

Consequently,  Bertand  might  be  a  libeitine,  but  he  was  not  a 
traitor-  and  Andre  began  to  feel  more  amicably  disposed  toward 
|lnm,  though  he  was  still  determiaed  to  defend  Babiole  from  his 
machinations. 

But  Babiole  was  soon  almost  forgotten  in  ihe  happiness  he  experi- 
enced in  finding  himself  near  Clemence.  When  she  leaned  for- 
ward upon  the  railmg  of  the  box,  her  hand  grazed  that  of  Andre, 
and  she  found  his  ej^es  riveted  upon  her  face  whenever  she  turned 
her  head  to  see  what  he  thouglit  of  the  air  that  nad  just  been  sun^. 

And  M.  Vernelle  evidently  approved  all  this,  for  lie  smiled  pleas- 
aatly,  and  his  face  wore  a  softened  expression  that  his  secretary  had 
never  seen  upon  it  before. 

Besides,  was  not  the  seat  he  had  assigned  to  Andre  suflScient  proof 
of  his  cordial  approval?  His  acquainlances  certainly  thought  so. 
To  show  them  his  daughter  seated  beside  Andre,  in  this  public 
pLce,  was,  in  their  opinion,  at  least,  quite  equivalent  to  an  announce- 
ment that  the  3^oung  man  would  soon  become  his  son-in-law. 

The  act  seemed  all  too  short  to  Subligny,  though  he  scarcely 
heard  a  note  of  the  music.  In  fact,  he  did  not  even  see  the  smgers. 
He  had  eyes  only  for  his  pretty  neighbor;  and  it  was  only  by  chance 
that,  just  as  the  curtain  fcil,  he  glanced  down  at  the  family  circle 
land  perceived  Babiole  looking  up  at  him. 

He  colored  and  drew  back,  but  Babiole  had  recognized  him,  for 
she,  too,  blushedo     Ail  this  escaped  IMlle,  Vernelle's  notice,  however. 

*'  What  adoraoie  music!  '  she  exclaimed-  "  Do  you  admire  it 
as  much  as  i  do?  1  was  never  so  happy,  and  1  should  like  every 
one  around  me  to  share  my  happiness/* 

Andre  was  about  to  assure  her  that  he  was  in  the  seventh  heaven 
of  deiightj  but  the  banker  checked  him  by  saying,  gayly: 

'It  is  1,  mv  dears,  who  am  the  happiest  of"  all.  In  the  first  place, 
because  you  both  are  itiappy,  and  in  the  second  place,  because  1  feel 
so  nmch  better  this  evening  The  improvement,  perhaps,  is  due 
to  the  fact  that  1  took  no  bromide  before  dinner.  But  the  best 
news  1  have  reserved  for  the  last  My  credit  is  saved.  My  house 
jhas  just  successfully  weathered  the  worst  storm  it  has  ever  en- 
countered ' 

'^What,  father,  you  are  talking  business  here!''  interrupted 
Clemence.      '  If  that  is  the  effect  the  '  Preaux  Clercs  '  has  upon 

you-"* 

"  That  is  just  like  a  young  girU  You  cannot  realize  that  1  have 
jbeen  on  the  verge  of  ruin  Only  this  morning  1  had  no  expectation 
|of  avoiding  it.  "That  was  the  reason  1  was  so  depressed  in  spirits. 
jFinaDy  an  inspiration  occurred  to  me.  The  decline  of  securities 
jwas  ruining  m.e,  but  1  sent  Bertand  word  to  sell  twice  as  much  an  i 
bnn  purQbai^^ci  during  th^  pa^t  mouth.    I  risked  my  all,  and  was 


66  BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLIITBR.  ..       . 

SO  anxious  that  1  did  not  have  courage  to  go  to  the  Bourse.  Stocks 
will  be  still  lower  to-morrow,  but  now  I  shall  not  only  lose  nothing; 
but  make  a  million  and  a  half.  *      ^^. 

**  Your  dowry,  my  dear  child,"  he  added  with  a  furtive  glance'ltj 
Andre,  who  scarcely  knew  whether  to  be  glad  or  sorry.  _?t^ 

**  Then  you  have  doubtless  seen  Monsieur  Bertand?'*  he  sai<*f,3 
timidly.  -"^  t 

*'  No,  though  I  am  rather  surprised  that  he  did  not  come  to  see^i 
me  after  the  Bourse  closed.   He  has  been  too  busy,  however,  to  even  ' 
send  me  a  memorandum  of  the  day's  operations.     But  I  know  him 
too  well  to  feel  the  slightest  anxiety.     Besides,  he,  too,  must  have 
been  exceedingly  anxious,  tor  he  had  as  much  at  stake  as  1  had." 

**  He  annouQced  the  great  victory  to  Monsieur  Chautepie  by  tele- 
phone." 

**  There,  1  was  sure  of  it.  Chautepie  should  have  informed  me, 
however  ' ' 

**  But  you  had  not  returned  when  he  left  the  office,  sir." 

**  That  is  true.  1  was  detained  by  reason  of  the  Marseilles  failure. 
There,  unfortunately,  we  can  expect  nothing.  They  will  not  pay 
fifty  cents  on  a  dollar.  But  my  good  luck  of  to-day  consoles  me. 
and  when  I  am  happy,  1  desire  every  one  around  me  to  be  happy. 
What  can  1  do  for  you,  my  dear  Andre?" 

*'  For  me?  why,'^sir,  you  have  loaded  me  with  benefits  now.  I 
4esire  nothing." 

*'  Is  that  really  true?"  inquired  M.  Vernelle,  a  little  mischiev- 
ously. 

*•  Well,  1  desire  only  one  thing,  that  1  may  never  leave  you,  and 
that  you  may  always  be  equally  fortunate  in  your  business  opera- 
tions." 

**  1  too  hope  that  you  will  never  leave  mo,"  said  the  banker,  gen- 
tly, **  but  you  cannot  always  hold  the  position  of  secretary.  It  does 
very  well  now,  while  you  are  young;  but  by  and  by  you  must  have 
something  better.  Besides,  you  forget  your  mother.  I  am  sure  she 
cannot  be  reconciled  to  the  idea  of  always  being  apart  from  you." 

**  My  mother  could  easily  be  persuaded  to  come  to  Paris  to  live." 

*'  Yes,  if  you  had  a  permanent  position— an  assured  future.  It 
you  were  married,  for  mstance,  especially,  well  married." 

'*  That  is  a  dream  which  1  fear  will  never  be  realized." 

*'  But  why,  my  dear  friend?    Is  it  because  you  are  too  hard  to 


*'  Possibly,"  faltered  Subiigny,  with  a  furtive  glance  at  Clemence, 
>fvho  was  toying  with  her  fan  to  hide  her  blushes 

**  That  is  a  pity,  but  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  better  than  being  too  jl 
modest.  Ambition  is  an  excellent  thing  in  a  young  man.  and  it  is  j| 
certainly  no  disadvantage  to  him  to  have  an  ideal.  1  have  some  ji 
curiosity  to  know  yours  You  would  wish  to  love  your  fvife,  aud  I 
to  be  loved  by  her,  ot  course,  but  you  would  perhaps  require  some-  j 
thing  more,  wea  th,  for  example/'  | 

**  No,  sir,  bv  no  manner  of  means.  1  would  much  rather  marry  a  I 
young  girl  without  a  dowry,  provided  she  has  courage  enough  to  J 
link  her  fate  with  mme  1  would  toil  unremittingly  to  make  her  i 
rich,  and  I  am  sure  that  *  should  succeed," 


BABIOLE,   THE    PKETTY    MILLIKER.  67 

"  These  sentiments  do  you  honor.  But  what  if  you  should  hap- 
pen to  tall  in  love  with  an  heiress?*' 

*'  That  would  be  very  unfortunate,  for  I  fear  she  would  suspect 
me  ot  mercenary  motives." 

•*  But  what  would  you  do  in  such  a  case?** 

*'  1  think  that  I  should  wait  until  my  fortune  was  equal  to  hers, 
before  declaring  my  love— and  as  1  have  nothing — ** 

*'  You  might  as  well  say  that  you  would  pray  lor  her  to  lose  all 
her  money,"  M.  Vernelle  interrupted,  laughing.  "You  are  hard 
upon  the  daughters  of  millionaires.  If  your  ideas  on  the  subject  of 
marriage  should  become  general,  well  dowered  young  ladies  will  be 
reduced  to  marrying  fortune-hunters.  It  is  not  their  fault,  however, 
that  their  parents  have  fco  much  money;  and  it  seems  very  unjust  to 
make  them  bear  the  penalty  ot  their  lathers*  crimes.  Ask  Clemence 
what  she  thinks  of  your  tUeories." 

**  I  think  they  are  very  wrons;,'*  replied  Mile.  Vernelle,  unhesitat- 
ingly. •*  If  we  are  to  believe  Monsieur  Subligny,  one  has  perfect 
control  over  one's  heart.  But  does  one  ever  know  whom  he  is  going 
to  love?  And  when  one  loves,  does  one  trouble  one's  self  about 
secondary  considerations?  If  1  gave  my  heart  to  any  one,  it  would 
be  his  beyond  recall.** 

*•  That  is  going  to  the  opposite  extreme.  How  would  it  be  if  you 
should  become  enamored  of  a  person  who  proved  to  be  a  thief,  for 
instance?*' 

Clemence  made  a  slight  grimace  as  if  to  indicate  that  such  a  sup- 
position was  absurd;  but  Andre  turned  pale,  and  averted  his  face. 

He  remembered  that  the  written  admission  of  his  crime  was  in  M. 
Chautepie's  hands,  and  that  the  cashier  had  only  to  produce  it  to 
ruin  him. 

*'  There  is  a  happy  medium  between  your  extravagant  ideas  and 
the  exaggerated  scruples  of  our  young  friend,**  remaiked  M.  Ver- 
nelle. **  Upon  this  point,  1  am  a  sort  of  a  left  center;  and  that  is 
the  stand  1  should  recommend  to  you  two,  if  you  ever  expect  to 
come  to  an  understanding.*' 

*'  I  am  ready  to  make  all  due  concessions,  I  am  sure,'*  laughed 
Clemence. 

Andre  dared  not  reply,  but  his  eyes  spuke  for  him. 

**  1  see  that  you  aie  really  both  of  tne  same  mind,'*  continued  the 
banker.  **  Y^'ou,  Andre,  forget  the  power  of  time  and  circumstances 
to  reduce  every  one  to  an  equality.  1  but  narrowly  escaped  ruin  to- 
day, and  1  may  be  irretrievably  ruined  to-morrow,  while  you  possess 
an  inalienable  capital;  youth,  intelligence,  and  industry.  Witk 
these  attributes,  one  is  sure  to  make  one's  fortune.  Your  feelings, 
Clemence,  1  think  I  understand  thoioughly;  but  suppose  you  let 
me  hear  a  description  of  your  ideal." 

"Ah,  well,  1  desire,  above  all,  that  my  husband  should  be  brave 
and  good.  1  would  have  him  love  me  for  myself,  love  me  forever, 
and  never  love  anyone  but  me,  for  1  should  be  very  jealous  ot  him, 
and  1  should  never  forgive  him  if  he  deceived  me.*'* 

**  Id  a  word,  you  are  dreaming  of  mental  perfection.  Now  as  t6 
physical  attributes?*' 

*'  I  should  be  less  exacting  in  that  respect.    1  should  be  perfectly 


68  BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLIN^ER. 

satisfied  if  he  had  a  pleasant  and  intelligent  face,   distinguished 
manner,  and  if  he  were  tall,  slender,  and  had  light  hair." 

"Enougli,  enough!  Andre  will  certainly  think  you  are  talking 
about  him." 

Clemence  smiled,  instead  of  replying,  but  the  smile  was  equiva- 
lent  to  a  "  yes  "  distinctly  uttered  in  the  presence  of  a  magistrate. 

Andre  cut  a  rather  sorry  figure,  and  there  are  few  men  who  would 
not  have  been  equally  embarrassed  under  like  circumstances.  A 
fortune-hunter  would  have  gotten  out  of  the  dilemma  by  taking 
advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  make  an  eloquent  declaration  of 
love;  but  Andre  was  too  much  in  love  to  have  his  wits  about  him, 
and  his  very  awkwardness  attested  his  sincerity. 

M.  Vernelle  came  to  his  aid. 

He  had  become  serious  again,  and  now  looking  straight  at  both  of 
them,  he  said: 

*'  You  understand— do  you  not?— that  I  have  read  your  hearts,  and 
that  when  1  thus  questioned  you  in  a  jesting  way,  it  was  for  me 
purpose  of  inducing  you  to  confess  your  mutual  love.  This  is  not 
customary,  1  know,  in  the  society  in  which  we  move,  but  3  detest 
false  positions,  and  I  thought  it  quite  time  to  define  yours.  Am  1 
mistaken?" 

**  If  we  were  not  here  at  the  theater,  1  would  certainly  kiss  you  I" 
exclaimed  Clemence. 

'*  Oh,  sir,"  began  Subligny  in  a  voice  broken  with  emotion,  *'  how 
can  1  over—" 

**  No  protestations,  my  dear  friend,"  interposed  the  banker, 
**  and  above  all,  do  not  thank  me.  That  would  be  premature.  1 
must  have  a  conversation  with  you  to-morrow.  There  are  several 
facts  which  you  are  ignorant  ot,  but  which  you  must  know  before 
pledging  yourself. 

"  In  the  meantime,  you  must  be  content  with  pressing  the  hand 
my  daughter  extends  to  you." 

Andre  did  not  need  a  second  bidding.  He  was  weeping  with  joy, 
and  Clemence,  who  was  equally  agitated,  dropped  her  eyes  to  con- 
ceal her  tears. 

They  forgot,  for  an  instant,  that  they  were  pliffhtiug  their  troth 
before  hundreds  of  spectators,  for  the  theater  was  full,  and  those 
present  were  taking  advantage  of  the  entr'acte  to  turn  their  opera 
glasses  on  the  boxes. 

But  what  did  they  care  for  this  scrutiny?  They  were  thinking 
only  of  their  happiness.  Andre  was  overpowered  by  it,  and 
Clemence,  though  perhaps  not  equally  unprepared  for  it,  enjoyed 
it  no  less,  for  she  had  not  expected  that  her  father  would  so  prompt- 
ly consent  to  a  desire  that  she  had  not  yet  dared  to  express. 

**  Calm  yourself,  children,  and  turn  to  the  audience,"  continued 
M.  Vernelle.  '*  People  are  looking  at  us,  and  1  don't  care  to  per- 
sonate in  public  the  benignant  father  who  gives  away  his  daughter 
on  the  stage."  The  lovers  turned  and  simultaneously  caught  sight 
of  Babiole,  who  was  devouring  them  with  hei  eyes. 

She  did  even  more.  As  Andre  caught  her  eyes,  she  bowed  to 
him,  smilingly. 

Mile.  Vernelle  noticed  the  fact,  aod  turiiing  to  Subligny  inquired 
^ith  surprise? 


BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLIKER.  69 

"  Are  you  acquainled  wilh  that  young:  girl?" 

"I  have  met  her  once,"  replied  Andre.  "She  resides  in  the 
house  where  1  stayed  a  short  time  with  a  friend,  betore  taking  up  my 
quarters  on  the  Rue  Rougemout." 

**  Il'ou  liave  seen  her  but  once,  and  yet  she  recognizes  you.  She 
must  have  a  remarkable  memory.  She  certainly  has  a  very  pretty 
face.     What  does  she  do?" 

"  She  is  a  milliner,  1  believe/' 

*'  But  you  are  not  sure  of  it,"  said  Clemence,  rather  ironically. 

"She  usually  left  ihe  house  very  early  with  a  band-box  in  her 
hand,  so  1  always  supposed  she  was  going  to  some  shop." 

Mile.  Yernelle  said  no  more,  but  Andre  saw  very  plainly  that  she 
suspected  him  of  not  telling  the  whole  truth. 

He  could  not  enter  into  any  explanation,  so  he  was  silent,  though 
he  secretl}^  anathematized  Bertand  who  had  provided  the  two  ladies 
with  seats  so  nearly  opposite  M.  Vernelle's  box. 

It  did  not  sf  em  at  all  probable  that  Bertand  had  done  this  inten- 
tionall}',  however,  for  he  would  naturally  feel  anxious  to  conceal 
his  escapades.  It  is  true,  though,  that  he  had  not  shown  himself, 
and  that  everytbinir  seemed  to  indicate  that  he  would  content  him- 
self with  waiting  for  Babiole  at  the  door  of  the  theater. 

The  curtain  rose  again,  and  all  conversation  ceased,  but  Clemence 
was  no  longer  listening  to  the  music.  She  had  picked  up  her 
father's  opera-glass,  and  had  levelled  it  at  an  opposite  box,  the  door 
of  which  had  just  been  thrown  noisily  open,  but  which  had  until 
now  been  vacant. 

Andre  w^as  troubling  himself  very  little  about  what  was  going  on 
around  him,  but  as  he  sat  with  his  eyes  riveted  upon  the  face  of  his 
betrothed,  he  fancied  that  he  perceived  an  unmistakable  palior 
creeping  over  it. 

Almost  immediately  Clemence  passed  the  glass  to  her  father,  at 
the  same  time  directing  his  attention  to  the  box  which  had  just 
been  invaded  by  a  rather  noisy  party. 

M.  Vernelle  turned  the  glass  in  that  direction,  and  Andre  noticed 
with  very  natural  astonishment,  that  the  longer  lie  gazed  the  more 
distressed  his  countenance  became.  A  moment  afterward  the  father 
rose  abruptly,  and  said  to  his  daughter  in  a  strained,  unnatural 
voice : 

'*  Come,  let  us  go." 

Clemence  had  already  risen  to  her  feet,  and  turned  her  back  to 
the  audience.  Her  father,  too,  had  retreated  to  the  rear  of  the  box 
and  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  her  with  great  impatience.  Andre, 
springiug  up,  and  hastening  to  him,  exclaimed: 

*'  What!  sir,  are  you  going?" 

**I  am  compelled  to  do  so,"  replied  Monsieur  Vernelle,  curtly. 
*'  You,  my  friend,  had  better  remain — " 

*' 1  do  not  care  to,  sir,  if  you — " 

''  Remain,  1  beg.  1  would  much  prefer  that  you  did  not  accom- 
pany us.  Do  not  ask  me  lor  any  explanation.  1  can  not  give  it  to 
you  here.  To-morrow  you  shall  know  all.  1  do  not  regret  having 
come,  since  I  can  noA^  call  you  my  son,"  he  added,  pressing  Sub- 
ligny's  hand  cordially,  "  but  nothing  in  the  world  could  induce  m© 
to  remain  another  moment  in  this  accursed  theater.'' 


70  BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLIIS'EK. 

Cl^mence  was  so  deeply  agitated  that  she  quite  forgot  to  say 
good-by  to  Andre;  indeed,  8ho  left  the  bcx  almost  without  looking 
at  him.  Her  father  loUowed  her,  and  immediately  closed  the  door 
behind  him. 

All  this  was  done  so  hastily  that  Andre  found  himself  alone  before 
he  had  time  to  say  another  woid,  or  gain  any  insight  into  the  cause 
ot  this  abrupt  departure. 

What  could  have  made  the  banker  leave  the  theater  in  the  middle 
of  the  programme,  and  just  as  he  had  made  two  pers(>ns  happy  by 
bestowing  his  daughter's  hand  on  his  secretary. 

Andre  felt  sure  that  this  hurried  flighi  was  in  some  way  con- 
nected with  the  advent  of  the  occupants  of  the  opposite  box.  Who 
could  these  people  be?  Certainly  not  creditors,  for  the  banker  had 
none;  besides,  the  creditors  of  a  merchant  prince  are  not  like  pitiless 
tradesmen  w^ho  do  not  hesitate  to  press  their  claims  whenever  they 
chance  to  meet  a  delinquent  debtor.  Nor  did  it  seem  probable  that 
M.  Vernelle  had  enemies  sufHciently  dangerous  and  powerful  for 
him  to  be  afraid  to  meet  them  face  to  face. 

Consequently  it  was  necessary  to  seek  some  other  explanation  of 
his  precipitate  flight,  for  he  had  not  simply  beat  a  retreat  as  one 
does  when  one  wishes  to  avoid  a  disagreeable  meeting,  he  had  fled 
in  the  literal  acceptation  of  the  word, — fled  wiihout  stopping  to  look 
behind  him,  dragging  hisdaughter  off  with  him  with  as  much  haste 
and  trepidation  as  if  threatened  wiih  imminent  danger. 

The  simplest  way  was  to  begin  by  CKamining  the  person  who  had 
perhaps  unwittingly  produced  this  efl:ect.  On  seating  himself  in 
the  chair  Clemence  had  just  vacated  Andre  perceived  upon  the  railing 
of  the  box  the  lorgnette  which,  in  his  agitation,  M.  Vernelle  had  for- 
gotten. 

Before  making  use  of  it,  how^ever,  he  used  his  eyes  and  saw  that 
the  box  in  question  was  occupied  by  a  woman  and  two  men. 

The  woman  was  sparkling  with  diamonds;  and  her  companions 
were  attired  in  the  height  of  fashion. 

Subiigny  became  more  and  more  puzzled  to  understand  why  this 
fashionable  group  had  so  terrified  the  banker. 

He  picked  up  the  opera  glass,  and  as  it  was  an  excellent  one,  he 
was  able  to  subject  the  faces  which  so  much  interested  him  to  a 
careful  examination. 

One  of  the  gentlemen  was  old;  the  other  seemed  to  be  about 
thirty,  certainly  not  more. 

The  elder  one  was  a  thorough  aristocrat  in  appearance,  with  gray 
mustache  and  side  whiskers,  a  decided  tendency  to  baldness,  keen 
eyes  and  a  scornful  mouth. 

The  yoimger  man  was  remarkably  handsome,  with  the  pallid 
complexion  so  many  womtn  rave  over,  very  red  lips  and  dazzling 
white  teeth  which  he  seemed  not  at  all  averse  to  showing.  His 
attire  was  irreproacliable,  his  manner  quite  as  befits  a  man  of  the 
world,  and  his  bearmg  diijinitied  without  stiffness. 

But  in  spite  of  all  these  atlrac(ions,  the  tout  ensemble  was  not 
pleasina:,  at  least  so  far  as  Sublignv  was  able  to  judge,  at  such  a 
distance. 

The  man  was  too  handsome  not  to  be  vain  of  his  beauty;  and  the 


BABIOLE,    THE    PKETTY    MILLINER.  71 

haus^bty  carelessness  of  demeanor  he  affected  was  not  altogether 
natural. 

**  If  he  were  a  Frenchman  I  would  be  willing  to  swear  that  he 
has  not  always  displayed  his  dress-coat  in  the  proscenium  boxes; 
but  he  is  eviaenlly  a  foieiirner,  a  South  American,  1  should  judge 
trom  appearances.  The  other  is  also  a  foreigner,  but  not  of  the 
same  nationalily. " 

He  next  extended  his  scrutiny  to  the  lady,  and  instantly  decided 
that  she  must  either  have  been  born  in  France,  or  that  she  had  spent 
many  years  in  Paris.  She  was  perfectly  at  home  in  the  box,  though 
a  host  of  lorgnettes  were  directed  upon  her,  and  her  toilet  was  in 
exquisite  taste. 

She  must  have  possessed  remarkable  beauty  in  former  years;  but 
of  hex  early  charms  there  now  remained  only  regular  features,  a 
regal  presence  and  superb  shoulders  which  she  displayed  freely. 

Her  face  was  a  won?  of  art  due  to  the  skillful  use  of  cosmetics  of 
all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow ;  but  the  effect  w^as  pleasing,  especially 
at  a  distance,  and  the  dark-complexioned  young  man  ^ho  accom- 
panied htr  did  not  seem  to  object  to  it,  for  he  often  leaned  over  to 
whisper  in  her  ear. 

He  occupied  a  seat  behind  her,  and  indulged  in  frequent  confi- 
dential remarks  which  did  not  appear  to  trouble  in  the  least  the 
composure  of  the  elderly  man,  who  seemed  to  be  devoting  his 
attention  exclusively  to  a  pretty  soubrette  who  was  frisking  about 
the  stage. 

'*  What  a  singular  trio!"  Andre  said  to  liimself.  **  Is  it  the  wife, 
the  husband  and  the  lover?  Whether  1  am  mistaken  in  this  sup- 
position or  not,  1  cannot  understand  what  these  persons  have  in 
common  wnth  Monsieur  Vernelle,  and,  above  all,  with  his  daughter, 
who  certainly  turned  pale  on  perceiving  them.  How  dirt  she  make 
the  acquaintance  of  this  superannuated  coquette?  Clemence  has 
but  just  entered  society,  and  that  stout  lady  must  have  shone  there 
before  Clemence  was  born.  1  must  certainly  be  on  the  w^oug  track; 
and  it  was  not  the  entrance  of  this  ill-assorted  group  that  drove 
Mademoiselle  Vernelle  and  her  father  from  the  theater.  They  may 
have  seen  a  Medusa's  head  somewhere,  but  not  in  that  box;  and  I 
am  not  sufficiently  Acquainted  with  their  affairs  to  discover  it,  so  I 
will  abandon  the  attempt." 

Moreover,  there  were  many  other  matters  on  his  mind  besides  that 
of  solving  tlie  mystery  which  his  employer  had  promised  to  disclose 
to  him  on  the  morrow. 

He  had  been  transported  with  delight  by  the  betrothal  improvised 
by  M.  Vernelle;  but  Babiole  had  marred  his  joy  by  her  inopportune 
greeting.  He  felt  that  a  vague  distrust  had  stolen  into  Clemence's 
heart,  and  he  was  a  tritle  angry  with  the  pretty  milliner  for  having 
bowed  to  him  so  familiarly.  Love  is  selfish,  and  Sabligny  began  to 
ask  himself  it  it  would  not  be  wrong  for  him  to  trouble  the  peace  of 
his  promised  wife  for  the  sake  of  defending  the  possible  virtue  of  a 
girl  for  whom  he  felt  only  friendship  and  gratitude. 

He  glanced  at  her,  and  saw  that  her  undivided  attention  was  now 
given  to  the  opera.    She  seemed  to  have  devoted  herself  entirely  to 


72  BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLINER.  f? 

the  pleasure  of  listening  to  a  delightful  melody.  Just  then,  they, 
were  singing — 

"  Les  rendezvous  de  noble  compa^nie 
Se  donnent  tons  en  channant  js^jour," 

and  certainly  the  words  could  evoke  no  recoiled  ion  of  the  corpulent 
speculator  who  was  waiting  to  inviie  her  to  sup  with  him  at  the 
Hehler. 

Andre  felt  as  if  he  W(  re  stifling  in  the  crowded  house;  he  realized, 
too,  the  necessity  of  having  time  for  letlection  before  deciding 
whether  he  should  conslitute  himself  Babiole's  champion,  or  aban- 
don her  to  her  fate. 

He  left  the  box,  and  went  out  in  \\\q  foyer  to  get  a  breath  of  fresh 
air.  expecting  to  see  no  one  there  before  tlie  close  of  the  act. 

But  it  was  decreed  that  he  should  encounter  surprise  after  sur- 
prise that  evening,  tor  he  had  scarcely  set  foot  in  the  corridor  before 
he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  M.  Bert  and. 

He  tried  to  avoid  him,  but  (he  speculator  stopped  him  and  said: 

*'  What!  is  this  you,  young  man?  1  did  not  expect  to  see  you  at 
the  Opera  Comique  this  evening.  What  the  devil  brought  you 
here?" 

"  The  same  that  brought  you.  probal/y,''  replied  Sutligny,  dryly. 
•*  1  came  to  hear  the  '  Pre-auxClercs.'  " 

'*  1  did  not,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  you  yourself  aie  not  occupied 
in  that  way  juv,t  at  the  present  time.  1  was  in  the  hall  a  moment, 
but  did  noi  see  you.     Wn<re  is  your  seal?" 

Andre  was  strongly  tempted  to  reply,  "  What  business  is  it  of 
yours?"  But  he  concluded  it  would  not  be  advisable  to  quarrel 
openly  with  a  man  whose  business  interests  v/ere  so  closely  allied 
Willi  those  of  Clemence's  father,  so  he  merely  answered: 

*  Monsieur  Vernelle  had  the  goodness  to  oiler  me  a  seat  in  his 
box." 

'*  Vernellel"  exclaimed  the  broker.  *'  Is  Vernelle  at  the  theater 
this  evening?    He  must  have  lost  his  senses." 

**  1  tail  to  understand  3'ou." 

**  Is  he  still  here?" 

*'  No,  sir;  he  just  left  in  company  with  Mademoiselle  Clemence.'*. 

"  !So  he  brought  his  daughter  1    That  certainly'  caps  the  climax!" 

"  You  would  oblige  me  very  much,  sir,  if  you  would  explain  your 
meaning  moie  clearly,"  said  Andre,  impatiently.  "  Such  astonish- 
ment on  3^our  part  seems  to  me  quit*^  uncalled  for." 

"  Explain!  oh,  certainly.  Know,  then,  young  man,  that  Vernelle 
made  a  great  mistake  in  attending  the  opera  this  evening— a  mistake 
he  now  regrets  bitterly,  I  assure  you." 

*'  And  why,  it  you  please?" 

*'For  two  reasons.  The  first,  j^ou  know  only  too  welL  The 
second  is  that  Madame  \ernelle,  his  wife,  is  enthroned  in  one  ot 
the  boxes,  escorted  by  her  protector,  and  by  the  lover  she  favors  in 
secret." 

Had  a  thunderbolt  burst  at  Andre's  feet  it  coidd  not  have  filled 
him  with  greater  consternation  than  this  coarse  respcmse. 

He  understood  at  List.  M.  Chautepie's  insinuations  recurred  to 
\\\A  memory     He  had  contei:led  liimselt  with  saying  that  Mme. 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLIKER.  15 

Vernelle  had  left  her  husband.  Bertand  ddw  openly  asserted  that 
she  had  sunk  to  the  lowest  possible  level;  and  everything  seemed  to 
indicate  that  he  did  not  exagcrerate  in  the  least. 

Andre  now  understood  only  too  well  why  Ciemenee  had  been  so 
anxious  to  escape  from  the  sight  ot  her  degraded  niother. 

So  this  was  the  family  skeleton,  thestain  to  which  he  was  probably 
indebted  tor  a  favorable  answer  to  his  suit.  The  millionaire  accepted 
his  secretary  for  a  son-in-law  because  he  could  find  no  other.  A  man 
can  marry  the  daughter  of  a  woman  who  has  sinned  in  secret;  but 
he  can  not  marry  the  daughter  ot  a  woman  who  parades  her  shame. 
'*  1  am  not  surprised  that  Vernelle  left,'*  sneered  Bertand.  "  One 
may,  indeed,  be  a  philosophical  husband,  and  yet  not  like  to  meet 
the  hussy  who  has  run  away  from  him  with  some  other  man.  It 
serves  Vernelle  right,  though.  This  will  teach  him  to  hire  opera 
boxes  on  a  day  like  this!" 

Andre  did  not  notice  this  last  remark.  He  could  think  only  of 
the  ruin  that  had  just  overtaken  his  hopes. 

**  What  is  the  "matter  with  you?"  inquired  Bertand.  **  One 
would  think  you  had  just  been  stunned  by  a  brickbat.  Your  em- 
ployer has  stood  it  for  ten  years,  as  every  one  knows,  and  he  must 
be  used  to  it  by  this  time.  1  see  no  reason  why  you  should  appear 
so  inconsolable.  What  difference  does  it  make  to  you,  if  Vernelle 
is  the  laughing  stock  of  all  Paris?  The  ridicule  does  not  fall  upon 
his  secretary.  "  Ah !  if  it  was  his  financial  embarrassment  we  were 
talking  about,  1  should  understand  your  apparent  perturbation,  for 
you  must  naturally  feel  some  anxiety  lest  you  should  lose  your 
place." 

**  1  can  hardly  think  of  self  when  my  benefactor  has  just  been  so 
cruelly  wounded,"  replied  Andre,  dryly;  "  and  you  certainly  might 
have  told  me  a  little  less  coarsely  that  his  wife  conducts  herself  like 
the  vilest  of  creatures. ' ' 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  were  ignorant  of  the  fact?  Why,  where 
can  you  have  kept  yourself?  Vernelle's  domestic  misfortunes  are 
known  to  everybody.  1  don't  think  he  cares  much  about  it  himself; 
but  it  will  be  a  difficult  task  for  him  to  marry  off  his  daughter, 
now,  especially.  His  faithless  spouse  must  be  a  pretty  hard  case  to 
return  to  France.  While  she  was  disportiog  herself  in  foreign  coun- 
tries, no  one  thought  very  much  about  the  matter;  and  in  fact,  it 
was  almost  forgotten.  But  1  was  talking  just  now  with  a  very  well 
posted  broker,  who  told  nie  that  the  old  hussy  was  about  to  take  up 
her  abode  in  the  Champs-Elysees,  in  great  splendor  and  at  the  ex- 
pense of  that  old  nobleman  who  is  sitting  in  the  box  beside  her.  The 
other  man  is  a  fellow  that  she  picked  up  at  Monaco,  and  that  she 
provides  for.  1  don't  know  what  Vernelle  will  do  to  stop  this 
scandal;  but  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  poor  man  has  had  hard 
luck  for  some  time  past." 

Each  word  uttered  by  Bertand  had  stabbed  Andre  to  the  heart. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  the  man  took  a  malicious  pleasure  in  tor- 
menting him;  and,  moreover,  there  had  been  in  his  remarks,  sundry 
covert  allusions  that  were  beginning  to  excite  the  3^oung  secretary's 
anxiety. 

"  To  be  ridiculed  and  ruined,  both  at  the  same  time,  is  certainly 
too  much,"  continued  the  speculator 


14:  BABIOLE,   THE    t>RETTY    MILLINEB. 

**  Ruined!"  exclaimed  Subligny.     "  What  do  j^ou  say?" 

'*  I  am  only  saying  what  everybody  l^nows.  Vernelle  has  been 
buying  heavily  of  late  aud  at  very  high  prices.  He  has  already  met 
with  enormous  losses;  and  to-night,  alfter  the  close  of  the  Bourse, 
there  was  a  fuither  declme  of  two  francs.  He  has  also  lost  heavily 
by  a  failure  in  Marseilles.  You  can  draw  your  own  conclusions, 
my  dear  fellow." 

**  Pardon  me,  sir,"  leplied  Andre,  greatly  excited.  "Monsieur 
Vernelle  sold  out  in  time,  as  you  must  know  better  than  any  one 
else." 

**  This  is  the  first  intimation  I  have  received  of  the  tact." 

**  You  forget  that  Monsieur  Vernelle  gave  you  orders  to  sell  twice 
as  much  as  he  had  puichased." 

**  He  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  It  is  his  own  fault,  too,  if  he  has 
been  caught,  for  1  warned  him.  But  he  is  as  obstinate  as  a  mule; 
and  he  refused  to  listen  to  me.     So  much  the  worse  for  him!" 

**  Sir,"  began  Andre,  angrily,  '*  Monsieur  Vernelle  just  told  me 
the  exact  opposite  of  wiiat  you  assert.  One  of  you  must  have  lied 
to  me,  aud  it  certainly  was  not  he." 

**  Y'^ou  will  soon  find  that  it  was  not  1.  1  have  done  with  my 
own  securities  exactly  what  he  refused  to  do,  and  have  cleared 
quite  a  handsome  amount  by  the  operation,  while  he  may  think 
himself  lucky  if  he  finds  himself  able  to  pay  up  his  indebtedness  at 
the  end  of  the  month.  If  he  does,  it  will  take  all  he  has  in  the 
world." 

**  Tlianks  to  the  treachery  of  which  he  has  been  the  victinj." 

**  What  treachery?  Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  that  1  received  the 
order  to  sell,  and  that  1  retrained  from  executing  it?" 

**  You  lead  my  thoughts  perfectly." 

**  Young  man,  are  you  aware  that  you  are  making  a  very  good 
charge  against  me?" 

**  Perfectly  well  aware  of  it,  sir." 

**  You  will  at  least  be  compelled  to  prove  it." 

*'Do  you  dare  to  assert  that  you  have  acted  in  an  honest  and 
honorable  manner  in  protecting  your  own  interests  and  neglecting 
those  of  your  partner?" 

*•  Vernelle  Is  not  my  partner,  though  he  invested  a  certain  amount 
of  money  in  my  business,  it  is  true.  He  consequently  has  an  inter- 
est in  it,  and  he  will  have  his  share  of  my  profits  from  this  day's 
transactions;  but  the  stocUs  with  which  he  so  foolishly  loaded  him- 
self down,  were  purchased  in  his  own  name,  and  tor  his  own 
benefit.  1  do  not  play  for  such  high  stakes  and  1  watch  over  my 
mterests  myself.  If  Vernelle  is  ruined,  he  owes  it  to  his  unpardon- 
able carelessness.  Here  is  a  banker  who  has  been  in  business  thirty 
years,  aud  who  has  an  immense  amount  of  money  at  stake,  anil  yet, 
this  gentleman  does  not  even  take  the  trouble  to  acsertain  if  an 
order  of  vital  importance  has  been  received  by  his  agent,  or  even  to 
come  to  the  Bourse  on  the  day  his  fate  is  to  be  decided.  You  must 
confess  that  this  is,  at  least,  very  strange." 

"  1  am  not  criticising  Monsiuur  Vernelle's  conduct,  but  yours; 
and  1  do  not  hesitate  to  declare  that  it  has  been  dastardly  in  the  ex 
treme.  Y^ou  knew  that  he  was  very  much  occupied,  and  that  the 
decline  was  likely  to  continue,  ana  yet  you  would  not  take  the  \ 


BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLINER.  "^O 

trouble  to  consult  your  best  customer  before  tiie  hour  of  closing  the 
Bourse." 

"  I  did  consult  him  yesterday.  1  even  begged  him  to  sell  but  he 
would  not  listen  to  me.  It  is  possible  that  he  thought  better  of  it 
during  the  night:  but  it  was  his  place  to  come  and  see  me." 

*'  And  after  ihe  closing  of  the  Bourse,  you  did  not  inform  him  of 
the  loss  he  had  sustained?" 

*•  1  sent  him  a  report  as  usual;  he  will  find  it  on  his  return  home. 
He  w^ould  have  received  it  much  earlier,  if  the  unfortunate  idea  of 
attending  the  Opera  Comique  had  not  occurred  to  him.  He  chose 
a  strange  time  to  take  his  daughter  to  the  opera." 

**  But  you  are  here!" 

**  It  is  very  different  with  me,  young  man.  I  have  made  a  great 
deal  of  money  to-day,  and  i  certainly  have  a  riirht  to  enjoy  myself, 
for  I  can  not  see  why  1  should  deprive  myself  of  a  little  innocent 
amusement  merely  because  old  Vernelle  has  been  unfortunate  in 
some  of  his  speculations." 

"  Very  well;  1  have  no  desire  to  interfere  with  your  di7ersions; 
but  we  will  see  what  Monsieur  Vernelle  thinks  of  youi  conduct." 

'*  He  can  think  whatever  he  likes.  It  makes  no  difference  to  me. 
I  have  been  perfectly  fair  in  all  my  dealings  with  him. 

"  And  now,  sir,  I  have  one  word  of  advice  to  give  you.  You 
are  young,  and  too  enthusiastic.  You  will  learn,  to  your  cost,  that 
it  is  not  well  to  espouse  the  cause  of  others  too  warmly.  Vernelle 
is  a  veritable  Old  Man  of  the  Sea.  You  had  better  seek  a  plank  to 
save  yourself  from  drowning  elsewhere,  tlian  in  his  house.  Still, 
you  are,  of  course,  at  perlect  liberty  to  do  as  you  please." 

As  he  concluded,  Beitand  turned  on  his  heel  and  left  the  foyer. 

Andre  felt  a  wild  desire  to  kick  him  out  of  the  opera  house,  but 
the  grief  that  oppressed  his  heart  overcame  his  anger,  and  he  allowed 
the  scoundrel  to  depart  without  the  chastisement  he  deserved. 

So  Andre  was  left  alone,  a  prey  to  the  deepest  consternation,  and 
nearly  crushed  by  the  terrible  revelations  that  had  been  made  to 
him  so  abruptly. 

His  misery,  too,  seemed  all  the  harder  to  bear  from  the  fact  that 
the  transition  from  unspeakable  happiness  had  been  so  sudden. 

What  was  he  to  do,  now?  Give  up  Clemence,  retire  from  the 
field?  It  was  not  M.  Vernelle's  financial  ruin  that  would  deter  liim 
from  marr3M'ng  her.  But  how  were  the  father  and  daughter  to  be 
deliveied  from  the  infamous  mother.  If  he  did  not  succeed  in  accom- 
plishing this,  how  could  he  endure  his  life  after  he  had  married 
Mile.  Veinelle?  What  would  his  mother  say,  when  she  learned  the 
disgrace  that  tainted  his  bride's  parentage.  And  she  could  not  fail 
to  learn  this  sooner  or  later,  for,  according  to  the  terms  of  the  law, 
Clemence,  before  she  could  marry,  must  have  the  consent  of  this 
woman  who  had  brought  her  into  the  world,  but  who  was  so  utterly 
unlike  her.  Mme.  Subligny  undoubtedly  supposed  that  the  banker 
was  a  widower,  as  she  had  never  spoken  to  her  son  about  any  Mme. 
Vernelle.  What  a  blow  it  would  be  to  her  when  she  heard  the 
truth! 

These  harrowing  thoughts  reduced  Andre  to  the  depths  of  de- 
Bpuir.    Indeed,  he  began  lo  fear  that  he  was  going  mad;  and  anx- 


?6  BABIOLE,   THE    PBETTY    MILLINER. 

ious  to  leave  this  foyer  where  his  happiness  had  received  its  death- 
blow, he  returned  to  tlie  box  just  as  the  act  was  concluding. 

What  impelled  him  to  return  to  the  place  where  Jie  had  sal  only 
a  few  moments  before  beside  her  he  loved,  he  would  have  tound  it 
difficult  to  explain;  but  it  was  probably  the  same  instinct  that 
makes  the  wretched  revisit  the  places  where  they  have  suffered. 

Many  of  the  audience  had  gone  out,  but  the  party  in  tbe  opposite 
box  was  still  there. 

Babiole  was  chatting  with  her  neighbor,  but  she  must  have  sud- 
denly  become  conscious  of  Andre's  presence,  for  she  turned  and 
glanced  up  at  him. 

But  when  she  perceived  him,  imitead  ot  smilinar  at  him,  as  she 
had  done  the  first  time,  she  made  a  gesture  that  seemed  to  signify: 

"  1  wish  to  speak  to  you.  Wait  for  me  at  the  door  of  the  theater.'* 

Andre  w^as  more  than  willing  to  comply  with  this  request.  In  the 
first  place,  there  was  no  longer  any  leason  for  practising  reserve,  as 
JVllle.  Vernelle  was  no  longer  there,  and  in  the  second  place,  he  was 
delighted  to  find  an  opportunity  to  make  himself  obnoxious  to  M. 
Beriand,  for  he  mistrusted  that  Babiole's  chaperone  had  said  some- 
thing about  taking  supper  with  the  gentleman  who  presented  the 
bouquet,  and  that  the  young  girl  being  determined  not  to  accept  the 
invitation,  wished  to  make  sure  of  the  protection  of  her  former 
neighbor  on  leaving  the  theater. 

Andre  looked  around  for  Bertand,  and  soon  discerned  him  lying 
in  ambush,  as  it  were,  in  a  dark  corner,  like  a  wily  spider  watching 
for  a  poor  little  fly.  He  even  fancied  that  he  detected  the  broker 
exchanging  signs  with  the  stout  woman  who  accompanied  Babiole, 
and  he  secretly  vowed  to  defeat  her  vile  plans. 

He  pretended  not  to  see  Bertand,  and  yielding  to  the  strange  fas- 
cination an  unpleasant  si^ht  always  exercises  over  a  nervous  man, 
he  gazed  persistently  at  the  occupants  of  the  opposite  box. 

The  elder  man  was  asleep  in  his  armchair;  the  lover  was  standing 
in  a  studied  attitude,  with  the  evident  expectation  of  creating  a  sen- 
sation by  bis  charms  of  person  and  figure;  the  lady  was  using  her 
opera  glass  perseveringly,  and  it  was  not  long  before  Subligny  dis- 
covered that  her  lorgnette  was  certainly  icv^eled  at  him. 

Vv'hy  was  she  gazmg  at  him  so  peisistently?  It  was  quite  impos- 
sible that  she  bad  seen  either  her  husband  or  her  daughter,  for  she 
had  scarcely  taken  her  seat  when  they  left  the  box.  Consequently, 
it  could  not  be  on  their  account  that  she  was  studying  him  as  a  con- 
noisseur of  feminine  loveliness  studies  a  professional  beauty. 

boon  the  lover,  apparently  annoyed  by  this  performance,  bent 
down  to  whisper  a  few  words  to  the  lady,  who,  nevertheless,  per- 
sisted in  her  scrutiny. 

*'  I  really  believe  he  is  jealous  ot  me,"  muttered  Andre.  **  1  will 
reassure  him,  and  show  the  w^oman  the  disgust  1  feel  for  her." 

So  he  turned  his  back  upon  them,  giving  Babiole  a  glance  tliat 
said  plainly:  "  Count  upon  me;"  then,  talking  the  opera-glass  tor- 
gotten  by  Clemeuce,  he  hastily  left  the  box. 

A  moment  afterward  he  was  on  the  boulevard  where  he  took  refuge 
in  the  same  spot  from  which  he  had  witnessed  Bertand's  introduce 
lion  to  Babiole. 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLi:brER.  77 

The  newspapei  boys  passed,  shouting:  '*  Great  Panic  at  the 
Bourse.     Latest  News  from  Tonquin!'* 

The  latest  news  from  Tonquin  interested  him  but  slightly;  but  the 
anuouuceiiient  of  the  panic  only  aroused  his  anxiety  atresh,  and.re- 
minded  him  that  even  now,  M.  Vernelle  still  considered  himself  rich. 
What  awakening  would  be  his  on  the  morrow!  Andre  thought 
vaguely  of  strangling  the  traitor  Bertand,  feeling  almost  certain  that 
he'll ;!d  betrayed  his  partner. 

When  the  people  began  to  leave  the  opera-house,  Andie  stationed 
himself  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Marivaux,  so  that  Babiole  could 
not  pass  without  seeing  him. 

He  had  scai  cely  taken  his  stand  there  before  he  perceived  M. 
Bertand  at  the  door  of  the  stairway  leading  to  the  private  rooms  of 
the  Cafe  Anglais. 

Bertand  had  seen  him,  but  he  evinced  no  inclination  to  cross  the 
street  to  speak  to  him. 

i^'ive  minutes  afterward  Babiole  appeared,  leaning  on  the  stout 
lady's  aim,  and  came  straight  toward  Andre,  in  spite  ol  the  efforts 
of  her  companion  to  get  her  on  the  other  side  ot  the  street. 

Andre  stepped  forward  to  meet  her,  bowled  to  her  as  deferentially 
as  he  would  have  bowed  to  any  fine  lady,  and  said,  quietly: 

"  1  am  at  your  service,  mademoiselle." 

Babiole  instantly  let  go  her  hold  on  her  companion's  arm  and 
took  that  ot  Andre,  saying,  steadily,  as  she  did  so: 

"1  tnank  you,  madame,  for  the  very  pleasant  evening  1  have 
passed;  but  it  is  not  necessary  for  you  to  trouble  yourself  any  fuither. 
1  am  very  near  home;  besides,  this  gentleman  will  have  the  kindness 
to  see  me  safely  to  my  own  door," 

*'  Why,  mademoiselle,**  exclaimed  the  matron,  **you  know  very 
well  tnat  w^e  are  expected — " 

"  To  take  supper  with  a  friend  of  3^ours.  Yes,  madame,  but  1  am 
not  hungry,  and  1  am  sleepy.  Consequently,  1  beg  you  will  allow 
me  to  wish  you  o:ood- night— and  a  good  appetite,"  added  the  girl 
mischievously. 

Bertand  had  hastened  up  to  listen  to  the  conversation.  He  had 
come  with  the  very  evident  intention  of  interfering,  and  Subligny 
was  preparing  to  snub  him  effectually,  when  Babiole  turned  to  the 
broker,  and  said : 

**  Good  evening,  sir.  1  re.c:ret  that  you  should  have  been  put  to 
fio  much  unnecessary  trouble.*' 

Even  as  she  spoke  she  dragged  Andre  away  before  he  had  time  to 
open  his  lips.  Nevertheless  he  heard  the  broker  mutter  an  oath 
together  with  an  opprobrious  epithet,  which  was  evidently  applied 
to  him. 

Subligny,  furiously  angry,  tried  to  free  himself  from  his  compan- 
ion's hold,  but  Babiole  clung  tightly  to  his  arm,  and  whispered; 

'*  No  quarrel  ou  my  account,  1  entreat." 

After  hastily  crossing  the  street,  in  spite  of  the  throng  of  passing 
carriages,  the  two  young  people  soon  reached  the  Rue  Laffitte. 

"  1  arrived  just  iu  tmie,"  remarked  Andre,  not  exactly  knowing 
what  to  say. 

*'lHm  not  »trai4  whllo  you  gie  with  me/'  replied  the  young 


78  BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLIKER. 

girl.     "  Still  I  shoulil  have  mnnaged  to  get.  out  ot  the  scrape  verj 
well  without  assislauce.     1  am  in  the  habit  of  protecting  myselt." 

"  Who  was  that  lady?" 

**  It  was  Madauie  Divet,  my  employer.  She  will  be  very  angry, 
but  that  makes  no  difference  to  me.  *  Had  she  gi^en  me  any  hint 
that  she  intended  to  take  supper  with  that  old  wretch  after  the  per- 
formance, 1  would  not  have  gone  to  the  opera.'* 

*  Then  you  were  not  acquainted  with  that  gentleman?" 

"I  have  seen  him  at  the  store.  He  calls  there  quite  often;  but  ilj 
1  had  known  that  he  wan  in  league  with  iny  employer  —  '* 

*'  Will  you  permit  me  to  advise  you  to  change  your  place  of  em- 
ployment?" 

"  1  am  thinking  strongly  of  doing  so,  but  it  is  not  a  very  easy 
maUer.  1  receive  very  good  pay  at  Madame  Divet's,  and  I  am  not 
at  all  sure  of  tinding  as  good  a  place  anywhere  else.  Besides,  1  have 
not  had  any  re^fl  cause  to  complain  of  her,  as  yet.  Nevertheless,  1 
should  not  hesitate  to  leave  her  if  X  really  tlnMight  that  she  had  any 
evil  designs.  But  enough  on  this  subject.  Will  you  tell  me  what 
you  have  been  doing  with  yourself  for  tiie  past  month?  You  prom- 
ised to  come  and  see  me,  you  remember  ?'* 

**  1  have  been  to  the  Rue  Lamartine  several  times;  but  was  never 
tortunate  enouf^^h  to  find  you  at  home." 

**  Oh,  you  came  once  to  get  j^our  trunk.  You  have  made  a  fortune, 
it  seems.  1  noticed  you  in  one  ot  the  highest-priced  boxes,  and  with 
very  brilliant  company." 

"  1  have  obtained  a  situation  in  the  business  house  of  the  gentle- 
man you  saw  with  me  at  the  opera.     He  is  a  banker,  and — ** 

"  And  he  has  a  very  charnnng  daughter.     I  cougratulate  you." 

Anxious  to  change  the  subject  Andre  hastily  inquired: 

"  And  what  have  you  been  doing  since  1  saw  you,  mademoiselle?" 

"  Oh,  1  have  had  one  fiouble  after  another.  In  the  first  place  my 
Uncle  is  quite  ill.  While  out  collecting,  he  took  a  severe  cold,  and 
yesterday  he  went  to  the  ho-pital,  where  he  can  be  better  cared  for 
than  at  home.  Tomorrow  is  Sunday,  visiting  dav,  and  1  am  going 
to  see  him.  Then,  too,  I  missed  you  very  much  after  you  went 
away.  J  had  not  known  you  long,  it  is  true,  but  1  very  quickly 
becomcaattacliKl  to  people  1  like.  But  tell  me,  my  ex-neighbor,  I 
hope  you  no  iongi  r  think  ot  killing  yourself?" 

"  No,  muilenioiselle,  hut  1  have-not  forgotten  that  you  saved  my 
life."* 

"  It  was  all  due  to  chance.  If  1  had  not  had  a  bonnet  to  finish  that 
nijiht,  1  should  have  gone  to  bed  at  nine  o'clock,  then  Heaven  only 
knows  wiiat  would  have  happened.  Your  friend  Monsieur  Marbeuf 
was  less  fortunate.  It  seems  that  he  is  dead.  The  concurgetold 
me  yesterday  that  his  furniture  was  to  be  sold.** 

"  I  thank  you  tor  niforming  me  of  this  fact,  but  1  do  not  yet  de- 
spair of  tinding  Marbeut.  1  believe  that  some  unforeseen  business 
compelled  him  to  leave  Paris  suddenlj^,  and  that  he  will  soon  re- 
turn." 

"  I  hope  so,  with  all  my  heart.  Now  1  am  going  to  be  unpardon- 
ably  inquisitive.  May  1  venture  to  ask  if  you  have  since  seen  the 
gentleman  I  found  w.'th  you  w^hm  I  c^U^d  that  morning  to  inquire 
how  you  had  sjuui  iW  ni^lit?'^ 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY     3IILLINER  i\) 

**  1  see  him  every  dny." 

'*  if  you  are  compelled  to  do  so,  1  certainly  pity  you." 

"  1  recollect  you  told  me  that  he  was  a  bad  man,  but—" 

"1  could  say  no  more  at  that  time,  because  lie  was  present.  Did 
he  recognize  me,  ]  wonder?" 

**  1  think  not,  for  he  asked  me  who  you  were." 

*•  1  hope  that  you  did  not  tell  him  my  name!" 

"  How  could  I,  when  I  did  not  even  know  it  myself?*' 

*'  I  am  glad  to  hear  that,  for  it  is  not  at  all  likely  that  he  remem' 
bered  me.  I  was  only  six  years  old  when  he  used  to  come  to  our 
house.  1  have  changed  a  good  deal  since  that  time,  but  he  has  not 
altered  in  the  least.     He  has  tliesame  false,  crafty  face.'" 

*'  Why  do  you  dislike  him  so  much?" 

"  He  i-uined  my  father,  aa^  my  father  blew^  his  brains  out  six 
months  afterward." 

"Ruined  him!    How?" 

•*  He  urged  my  father  to  intrust  his  little  fortune  to  him  to  specu- 
late with.  ;^Iy  poor  father  lost  his  all,  and  this  Chautepie  made 
money  by  it." 

Andre  started  violently.  It  was  almost  the  same  story  as  that  of 
Bertand's  connection  with  M.  Vernelle,  and  Bertand  and  Chautepie 
were  evidently  tlie  best  of  friends. 

"  1  do  not  know  what  your  connection  with  him  may  be,"  con- 
tinued Babiole,  '*  but  it  is  my  duty  to  say  to  you,  *  Beware  of  him. 
He  is  a  scoundrel  and  a  hypocrite.  *  "     '  ," 

She  was  preaching  to  one  who  was  already  converted  to  hei  belief. 
He  did  not  reply,  however.  It  would  have  taken  him  too  long  to 
explain,  and  they  had  already  reached  the  corner  of  the  Kue  Lamar- 
tine. 

**  1  thauK  you  for  the  warning,  and  will  profit  by  it,"  he  replied. 
**  May  1  venture,  before  leaving  you,  to  ask  your  permission  to  see 
you  again?" 

"  Whenever  you  like,  provided  that  it  is  not  to-morrow,  for  1  shall 
spend  m.ost  of  the  day  at  the  hospital  with  my  uncle.  By  next 
Sunday  he  will  be  well  again,  1  hope,  and  in  that  case  1  shall  be  at 
hotne  all  day,  and  will  be  very  glad  to  see  you.  Thank  you,  and  au 
revoir,''  added  the  girl,  shaking  hands  with  him  in  a  friendly,  un- 
afi'ected  fashion,  for  she  had  now  reached  her  own  door. 

He  stood  gazing  after  her  for  a  moment  as  she  entered  the  bouse, 
then  turned  sadly  toward  the  Rue  RougeiiU)nt.  He  was  thinking  of 
the  morrow,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  last  hope  had  departed 
with  Babiole. 


CHAPTER  V. 

It  is  eight  o'clock,  and  the  dull,  gray  light  of  a  foggy  morning  is 
Bhming  into  a  long  room  bordered  with  two  parallel  rows  ot  white- 
curtained  iron  bedsteads. 

The  emoothly-polisiied  floor  shines  like  a  miiror.  Through  the 
windows,  which  are  opened  at  the  top,  the  soft  nir  enters,  freighted 
with  the  balmy  odors  of  spring,  Sevf.Tal  nursrs  are  moving  nc  ise- 
lessly  about,  ctjiersare  ariaugin;;'ii}e  nuxiicine  bottler  oa»an  etagere. 


80  BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLINEB. 

It  is  the  Saint  Ferriinand  ward  of  the  Nocker  Hospital,  which  stands 
at  the  end  ot  the  Rue  de  Sevres.  The  hour  for  tbe  physician  iu- 
chicf  s  visit  is  fast  approaching,  and  preparations  are  being  made  to 
receive  him. 

All  the  patients  are  in  bed,  even  those  who  are  able  to  be  np  and  to 
walli  about,  for  such  is  the  rule.  Clinics  require  it,  for  the  pupils 
must  be  grouped  around  a  bed  in  order  to  hear  their  instructor's 
remarks. 

Those  who  are  coavalescent  are  sitting  up  in  bed,  and  some  of 
them  are  talking  with  their  neighbors.  They  bid  each  other  good- 
morning,  and  exchange  bits  of  news  and  even  jests,  which  are 
always  rather  coarse,  and  not  unfrequently  rather  appallins:  in  char- 
acter. 

The  curtains  ot  one  bed  are  closely  drawn.  The  patients  all  know 
why.     Number  Ten  died  last  night. 

For  here  one  ceases  to  be  a  man  and  becomes  a  number. 

*'  Well,  old  Fourteen,  how  are  you  this  morning?" 

"Tolerable,  tolerable,  Number  Twelve.  Though  1  must  say  I 
should  not  object  to  a  quart  or  tAVO  ot  beer." 

•*  You  had  better  not  aiak  tor  it  heie.  They  will  give  you  a  pot  ot 
jerb-tea  instead." 

These  jeering  remarks  have  for  an  accompaniment  the  hollow 
groans  ot  Number  Sixteen,  who  is  suffering  terribly. 

Just  then  two  men  enter,  bearing  a  sort  of  litter,  on  which  rests 
a  coffin,  which  they  deposit  near  the  closed  bed. 

"  Here  comes  the  domino-box!"  exclaim  several,  who  will  prob- 
ably soon  be  laid  aivay  to  rest  is  a  similar  receptacle. 

The  dead  man  is  readj^  for  the  i^rave.  His  toilet  had  been  made 
the  night  before  by  one  of  the  nurses.  He  is  laid  in  his  cofhn,  and 
is  then  borne  away. 

"  Passengers  for  Clamart,  all  aboard!"  huskily  cries  a  consumpt- 
ive, who  has  not  a  fortnight  to  live. 

It  is  not  because  these  poor  creatures  are  heartless,  but  only  be- 
cause they  have  become  accustomed  to  such  sights.  In  their  own 
homes,  if  they  saw  anyone  die,  they  would  mourn  their  loss  far  more 
sincerely  than  the  rich  who  expect  a  share  of  the  property  ot  the 
deceased.  But  in  the  hospital,  as  on  the  battle-field,  persons  only 
come  there  to  die,  and  conssequently  it  is  there  one  must  go  to  learn 
how  little  Human  liie  is  worih. 

Who  ot  us  has  not  witnessed  the  last  moments  of  some  loved  one? 
Relatives  are  kneeling  about  the  bed,  striving  to  repiess  their  sobs; 
despair  is  depicted  on  every  face.  It  almost  seems  to  every  one  that 
the  world  is  about  to  end  with  the  departure  of  ihe  loved  one  who  is 
still  clinging  to  life.  And  when  the  soul  lakes  flight  in  a  faint  sigh, 
moans  burst  from  every  lip,  and  tears  tlow  from  ever}'-  eye.  It  is 
the  direst  of  catastrophes. 

There  is  nothing  of  that  kind  here.  A  death  is  only  what  one 
must  expect  iu  the  natural  course  of  things.  Death  is  ever  pres- 
ent. It  touches  a  bed,  and  the  bed  instantly  becomes  empty.  It 
will  have  another  occupant  to  rnorrow,  however— another  occupant 
who  will  go  in  the  same  way.  But  what  does  that  matter  to  the 
guivivors?    They  h^vg  become  lamiiiar  wjtU  ilie  idea  oi:  partip|t 


BABIOLE,    THE    PKETTY     MILLINER.  81 

and  qnielly  await  their  time,  without  longing  for  it,  like  soldieis 
who  see  their  comrades  falling  around  them. 

Their  end  is  usually  silent  and  lonely,  for  nearly  all  die  without  a 
moan,  at  night,  when  those  around  them  are  asleep.  But  they  per- 
haps depart  on  their  last  journey  with  less  regret,  for  they  have  not 
before  their  eyes  the  harrowing  sight  of  the  grief  and  despair  ot 
those  whom  they  love,  but  from  whom  they  must  part. 

The  clock  strikes  nine,  and  the  phj^yician  enters,  followed  by  a 
crowd  ot  medical  students.  He  has  a  white  apron  tied  around  his 
waist.  The  head-nuise  and  the  hospital  apothecary  walk  beside 
liim,  note-books  in  hand,  to  jot  down  his  directions.  The  students 
crowd  closely  upon  Iheir  heels,  for  Dr.  Valbregue's  class  in  clinics 
is  very  popular. 

Some  of  the  students  are  shabbily  dressed,  and  not  a  few  of  them 
have  suu!;:en  eyes  and  haggard  faces,  for  there  had  been  a  public  ball 
in  the  Quartier  Latin  the  night  before. 

A  profound  silence  reigns  in  the  ward.  The  patients  know  that 
the  physician  tolerates  no  facetious  remarks,  and  they  also  feel  that 
th3ir  lives  are  in  his  hands. 

Soldiers  are  always  silent  when  a  general  in  whom  they  have  con- 
fidence, is  leading  them  into  fire.  They  realize  that  an  injudicious 
order  may  cause  the  death  ot  all  of  them,  and  that  the  ofiicerin  com- 
mand must  not  be  disturbed. 

M.  Valbregue  pauses  at  each  bedside,  questions  the  patient,  and 
explains  the  case  to  his  followers. 

He  speaks  rapidly  and  lucidly,  though  he  uses  technical  terms  in 
order  that  the  patient  may  not  hear  his  d^ath- warrant. 

He  says,  for  example:  "  The  tubercles  are  rapidly  nearing  a  state 
of  ramolescence, "  and  the  poor  devil  who  is  nearly  gone  wiili  con- 
sumption, does  not  understand  that  the  words  are  an  announcement 
of  speedy  dissoliuion. 

Not  infrequently  M.  Valbregue  calls  upon  one  of  the  students  to 
give  a  diagnosis  of  the  case,  and  if  he  makes  any  mistake,  gently  cor- 
rects him,  nor  does  he  ever  forget  before  passing  on,  to  cheer  the 
patient's  spirits  by  a  few  words  of  eucouiagement. 

His  is  in  every  respect  a  model  visit. 

That  day,  it  was  less  interesting  than  usual.  The  ward  sheltered 
such  common- place  maladies  as  affections  of  the  chest,  typhoid  and 
intermittent  fevers,  and  other  diseases  of  a  similar  nature.  In  the 
beds  first  visited  there  was  not  a  single  remarkable  case,  or  uncom- 
mon ailment. 

In  fact,  the  doctor  was  reserving  for  the  last,  the  only  one  worthy 
of  particular  attention. 

]N  umber  Ten  had  died,  as  M.  Valbregue  had  predicted  the  day  be- 
fore; and  Number  Sixteen  was  about  to  rlie;  that  was  evident  to  any 
one. 

Number  Twenty  was  a  new  patient;  a  man  about  forty  years  of 
age,  who  had  been  admitted  to  the  hospital  the  preceding  day,  upon 
a  ticket  bearing  the  words:  "  Pleuropneumonia." 

The  doctor  examined  him  carefully,  then  inquired,  kindly: 

**  What  is  your  business,  my  good  man?" 

*'  1  am  now  a  collector,  major,  but  1  was  formerly  a  quartermas- 
ter in  the  Seven tli  Cuirassiers," 


82  BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLJKER. 

"  And  it  was  in  running  about  to  collect  money  that  you  cou- 
tracted  this  cold,  I  suppose?" 

"  Yes;  1  think  so,  major." 

*•  Oh,  well,  3'ou  will  be  out  again  in  a  week.  There  was  a  mis- 
take in  your  ticket  ot  admission.  You  have  only  a  severe  attack  of 
bronchitis.  But  it  would  be  well  for  you  to  change  your  business. 
You  have  a  predisposition  to  inflammation  and  enlargement  ot  the 
lungs,  which  will  cause  you  a  great  deal  of  trouble  if  you  are  not 
careful." 

**  I  should  be  very  glad  to  retire,  1  assure  you,  but  1  have  no 
money,  and  1  must  earn  my  living  in  some  way." 

"  Nonsense!  you  can  earn  it  as  a  copyist  or  book-keeper.  1  will 
speak  to  one  of  my  friends,  a  banker,  about  you." 

**  Thank  you,  major.     I  shall  require  no  urging,  I  assure  you.'* 

M.  Valbregue  pa-^sed  on.  The  ward  contained  forty  beds;  the 
even  numbers  on  one  side,  the  uneven  numbers  on  theother.  Num- 
ber Twenty  was  consequently  the  last  patient  in  one  of  the  rows,  and 
directly  opposite  Number  Nineteen.  That  bed  was  occupied  by  a 
patient  afflicted  with  a  malady  of  an  unusual  kind;  one  of  those 
patients  who  find  shelter  in  the  Paris  hospitals  only  tor  a  time,  for 
he  looked  the  picture  ot  health. 

He  was  a  young  and  stalwart  man,  with  keen  bright  eyes,  and  a 
heavy  black  beard  upon  which  he  bestowed  no  attention,  and  v/hich 
consequently  gave  him  a  rather  wild  air. 

He  had  gone  to  bed,  of  course,  like  the  others;  but  beseemed  very 
anxious  to  get  up,  for  he  was  moving  restlessly  about  under  the 
coverlet. 

**  Ah,  well,"  said  the  doctor,  feeling  his  pulse,  **  how  are  you  pro- 
gressing, my  dear —    Pray  tell  me  your  name,  I  always  forget  it." 

**  And  1,  too,  have  forgotten  it,  as  you  know  very  well,  for  that 
is  the  reason  you  keep  me  here,"  replied  the  patient. 

**  Nothing  would  give  me  more  pleasure  than  to  sign  your  ticket 
of  dismissal;  but  where  would  you  go?" 

**True:  1  have  also  forgotten  where  1  used  to  live.  But  that 
need  make  no  difference.  I  cannot  reniain  in  a  hospital  forever. 
You  had  better  send  me  away,  doctor.  1  shall  manage  very  well,  1 
dare  say.  Before  1  came  here,  1  did  not  live  upon  air.  I  must  have 
earned  my  living  in  some  way." 

**  But  how?" 

•*  I  cannot  say.     It  seems  to  me,  though,  that  1  kept  books." 

**  Yes,  you  must  have  been  a  clerk,  1  think.  But  where?  In  one 
of  the  government  departments?" 

**  All  1  can  tell  you  is  that  I  worked  in  an  office.  There  are  times 
when  I  can  see  the  office,  it  seems  to  me." 

**  This  is  a  sign  of  improvement,  gentlemen,"  said  the  doctor,  turn- 
ing to  his  pupils. 

'*  It  even  seems  to  me  that  if  1  could  be  taken  there  1  should  recog- 
nize it." 

**  That  is  the  precise  difficulty,  my  friend;  if  you  could  only  recol- 
lect the  locality  in  which  you  lived,  1  would  take  you  there  myself, 
and  it  would  be  very  strarige  if  your  memory  did  not  return  to  you 
when  you  passed  your  old  home.     Come,  now,  try  to  remember." 

"  I  don't  do  anything  else.    My  poor  brain  is  constantly  at  work 


BABIOLE,    THE     PRETTY     MILLINER.  83 

trying  to  solve  the  mystei^y.  Occasionally,  some  chance  word 
awakens  a  vague  recollection  vrilhin  me.  I  strive  to  seize  it,  and 
then  it  fades  away,  almost  instantly.  1  am  like  a  man  who  is  lost 
in  the  depths  of  a  mine,  and  who  is  vainlj^  endeavoring  to  grope  his 
way  out  through  the  darkness." 

**  And  the  past  still  remains  a  perfect  blank  to  you?"  inquired  the 
doctor. 

**  A  perfect  blank.  It  seems  to  me,  now,  that  my  life  began  at 
the  moment  1  regained  consciousness  here  on  this  bed.  And  yet,  I 
am  not  insane,  for  1  realize  my  conait ion  perfectly,  and  even  the  con- 
dition of  those  around  me.  1  know  that  I  was  brought  to  the  IS ecker 
hospital  in  a  state  of  complete  insensibilit}^  and  that  I  had  been 
picked  up  on  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens.  1  know  that  you  are  a 
celebrated  physician,  and  that  a  man  died  here  in  the  ward  last 
night.  More  than  that,  1  have  followed  and  understood  all  the 
theories  you  have  advanced  in  the  presence  of  these  gentlemen,  with 
regard  to  my  malady.  1  know  that  1  fell,  and  that  in  my  tall  my 
brain  received  a  shock  from  which  il  has  not  recovered.** 

**  And  how  about  all  the  rest?" 

*'  1  know  nothing  whatever  about  that.  I  do  not  even  know  who 
or  what  1  was  before  the  accident." 

A  murmur  of  surprise  rose  from  the  crowd,  for  never  before  had 
the  students  seen  such  a  case. 

M.  Valbregue  vainly  endeavored  to  devise  some  plan  by  which  he 
could  connect  the  past  with  the  present,  the  known  with  the  un- 
known, and  dispel  the  darkness  in  which  the  accident  had  enshrouded 
this  unfortunate  young  man's  mind. 

'*  you  express  yourself  so  well  that  you  must  have  received  a 
superior  education,"  he  remarked. 

•*  That  is  very  probable,"  was  the  reply. 

*'  At  what  college  were  you  educated?" 

"  1  don't  lemember." 

**  Have  you  forgotten  your  parents  and  relatives*  Dcnorecollec 
tiotts  of  your  childhood  haunt  your  mind?" 

*'  None  whatever." 

The  doctor  paused,  realizing  that  these  questions  which  were  al- 
ways revolving  in  the  same  circle,  would  be  futile. 

**  And  your  sweetheart,  have  yuu  no  recollection  of  her?" 

**  1  never  had  one." 

"  Are  you  sure?'* 

"  At  least,  I  have  no  remembrance  of  having  had  one.'* 

**  And  yet  you  know  what  a  sweetheart  is?" 

**  Certainly.  Last  Thursday  a  veiy  pretty  woman  came  to  see 
jS"umber  Ten— the  patient  who  died  last  night,  and  I  really  enjoyed 
looking  at  her.*' 

"  But  you  did  not  know  her,  1  suppose?'* 

**  !No,  not  at  all.** 

"  Do  you  think  that  if  you  had  ever  seen  her  before  you  wouW 
have  recognized  her?'* 

**  1  think  so;  but  I  am  not  sure." 

"  That  would  be  a  good  experiment,  and  chance  may  furnish  you 
tvitU  the  opportunity.  Do  you  remain  in  the  ward  on  visitors'  day?** 


84  BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MlLLIi^ER. 

*•  Not  always.  1  walk  in  the  garden  as  often  as  I  can  The  open 
air  does  me  good. " 

"  Fes,  and  1  advise  you  to  embrace  every  opportunity  to  get  out 
of  doors;  but  try  to  be  here  at  the  hours  when  visitors  are  aamitted." 

**  1  will  not  fail  to  do  so,  of  course,  it  3'ou  vTish  it,  sir." 

**  It  is  for  3^our  own  sake  entirely,  that  1  make  the  request.  Some 
one  may  come  who  will  recognize  you,  and  speak  to  you;  and  even 
that  may  be  enough  to  brinj?  your  past  back  to  you,  and  restore  j^our 
memory.  Then  you  can  leave  this  hospital,  where  you  find  ii  lather 
dull,  1  tear." 

*'  Yes;  1  am  positively  dyiog  of  ennui  and  mortification." 

**  Well,  you  can  then  re-enter  social  lite,  where  1  feel  sure  that 
you  occupied  an  honorable  position,  and  regain  3^our  lost  identity." 

"  That  is  the  boon  I  crave  above  all  others,  for  if  that  piece  of 
good  fortune  does  not  befall  me  1  don't  know  what  will  become  of 
me.  You  will  perhaps  finish  by  sending  me  to  a  mad-house.  I  am 
not  a  lunatic  now,  but  1  should  soon  become  one  in  such  a  place.** 

*1  promise  you  to  do  all  in  my  power  to  prevent  that.  1  even 
promise  to  try  to  find  a  situation  for  you  if  you  desire  it.  You  have 
not  forgotten  how  to  read  and  write,  and  you  could  easily  fitl  a 
clerk's  position.  1  am  not  sure,  indeed,  but  it  would  be  the  most 
effectual  way  ot  restoring  vour  memory." 

"  I  should  be  very  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  attempt  it." 

**  Then  1  will  see  what  i  can  do  tor  you;  but  1  should  like  you  to 
remain  here  a  fortnight  longer.  You  will  be  the  gainer,  and  science 
will  also  profit  by  it." 

"  Yes,  1  know  that  my  case  will  figure  in  the  medical  annals,  and 
that  you  are  going  to  report  it  to  the  Academy.  It  is  an  honor  that 
I  do  not  crave  in  the  least,  but  you  are  so  kind  to  me  that  1  will  do 
whatever  you  wish." 

"  It  is  settled,  then.  Trust  me,  and  have  patience.  Quiet,  mod- 
erate exercise,  and  a  substantial  diet— but  above  all,  quiet,  are  what 
you  need  now.  Don't  rack  your  brain  in  the  hope  of  reviving  your 
recollections  of  the  past.  Wait  for  some  incident  to  do  that  for  you." 

With  these  concluding  words,  the  doctor  left  the  bedside,  and  after 
laying  aside  his  apron  in  the  ante- room,  turned  to  tlie  crowd  of 
students  around  him,  and  said: 

"  Y^ou  have  just  seen,  gentlemen,  a  case  unparalleled  in  the  an- 
nals of  science.  The  loss  of  memory  in  consequence  of  a  fall,  or  of 
a  blow,  has  been  frequently  observed;  but  one  of  two  thmgs  always 
happens:  either  the  lost  faculty  gradually  returns  after  a  short  de- 
lay, or,  on  the  contrary.  In  the  "same  space  of  time,  intelligence  be- 
comes totally  extinct,  and  the  injured  person  remains  an  idiot.  We 
can  all  testify  to  entirely  different  results  in  the  case  of  the  patient 
we  have  just  been  examining.  Thirty-three  days  after  his  accident, 
he  is  still  in  the  same  condition.  The  patient  is  not  only  stid  un- 
cured,  but  he  has  made  no  progress  whatever  toward  recovery. 

"  It  will  be  very  interesting  tu  know  what  will  be  the  result  in  this 
extraordinary  case;  and  1  need  not  add  that  1  do  not  intend  to  lose 
sight  of  the  patient  after  he  leaves  the  hospital. 

•*  If  any  one  of  you  has  any  comments  to  make,  I  will  listen  to 
them  with  pleasure. " 

'*  J.  have  oue,"  said  one  of  the  students,  timidly. 


BABIOLE,   THE    PKETTY    HILLIKER.  85 

**  Speak,  my  triend." 

•*  1  should  like  to  ask  if  this  case  does  not  strongly  resemble  one 
of  pretended  madness." 

*'  That  is  not  a  bad  suggestion  for  a  student  in  his  first  year.  You 
mean  that  this  man  has  preserved  his  memory,  and  that  he  is  only 
pretending  to  have  lost  it.  Upon  what  do  you  base  this  opinion, 
may  1  ask?" 

*'  It  seems  to  me  that  this  person  may  have  some  object  in  conceal- 
ing his  identity.  He  was  probably  wounded  in  some  brawl,  for 
^  when  he  was  brought  here  his  clothing  was  torn  and  stained  with 
mud.  It  is  possible  that  he  killed  or  wounded  some  one  seriously, 
before  his  fall.  Who  knows,  indeed,  but  he  may  have  fallen  in  scaling 
some  wall,  with  the  intention  of  committing  a  robbery  or  an  assas- 
sination?" 

"You  have  read  many  criminal  romances,  1  see,  youn":  man," 
saifl  M.  Valbregue,  smiling.  "  Your  conjecture  is  ingenious,  but  it 
is  based  on  no  scientitic  observation.  Besides,  1  can  set  your  mind 
at  rest  on  this  point.  At  first,  1  was  under  the  same  impression  that 
you  are — and  so,  indeed,  were  others— but  I  investigated  the  matter, 
first  making  inquiries  of  course  at  the  pi*efecture  of  police.  ]  found 
that  nothing  w^hatever  was  known  about  our  patient  there,  and  that 
ou  the  night  of  his  accident  there  was  no  street  fight,  and  not  even 
an  attempt  at  robbery;  hence,  it  is  only  reasonable  to  conclude  that 
lie  speaks  the  truth  when  he  declares  that  he  remembers  nothing. 

*'  You  will  see  if  the  future  does  not  confirm  my  diagnosis,  lor  I 
feel  sure  that  my  patient  will  be  recoirnized  sooner  or  later.  Now 
farewell  until  to-morrow,  gentlemen." 

The  crowd  that  had  gathered  around  the  doctor  hastily  dispersed; 
the  students  movins:  away  in  little  groups,  busily  engaged  in  discuss- 
ing their  instructor's  vievVs  on  this  interestimr  subject. 

There  lingered  to  escort  M.  V'albregueto  his  carriage  only  the  two 
members  of  the  hospital  corps. 

The  apothecary  looked  very  like  a  miner,  for  his  hair  was  dishev- 
eled and  his  clothing  shabby,  while  his  hands  bore  marks  of  the 
chemical  experiments  to  which  he  devoted  himself  with  untiring 
ardor. 

The  assistant  supermtendent  was  a  small,  dark-complexioned 
man,  much  belter  dressed  than  his  companion,  and  endowed  with 
an  intelligent  and  prepossessing  face. 

*'  What  do  you  think  of  the  case,  my  dear  Bosc?"  the  doctor  in- 
quired of  him.  •'  Have  you  any  hope  that  we  shall  eventually  solve 
the  enigma?" 

"  Balzac  indicates  a  mode  of  cure  which  seems  to  me  excellent," 
was  the  smiling  response. 

"  Balzac!  So  you,  too.  study  romances  with  a  view  to  curing  the 
sick?" 

**  He  tells  a  story  of  a  woman  who  had  become  mad  in  a  mount- 
ain pass,  where  her  husband  perished  before  her  very  eyes. 
Twenty  years  afterward,  some  one  conceived  the  idea  of  represent- 
ing in  her  presence  the  catastrophe  which  had  caused  the  loss  of  her 
reason,  with  the  adjuncts  of  a  pretended  river  and  glaciers.  And 
on  witnessing  the  sight,  she  suddenly  recovered  her  reason.  That 
would  answer  admirably  on  the  stage;  but,  in  the  first  place,  our 


86  BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLIKEE. 

man  is  not  mad,  and  in  the  second  place,  1  should  like  to  know  how 
you  would  manage  to  show  him  the  scene  ot  his  accident.  He  him- 
self has  no  idea  what  happened  to  him,  or  where  it  happened." 

*'  But  he  will  recollect,  perhaps — and  then,  by  taking  him  to  the 
scene  ot  the  catastrophe—" 

"  In  the  meantime,  my  dear  tellow,  you  had  better  peruse  again 
some  oi  the  numerous  works  on  diseases  of  the  brain.  They  are 
the  best  authority,  after  all.  And  as  you  will  be  on  duty  to-morrow, 
JSunday,  do  me  the  favor  to  go  up  in  the  ward  while  the  visitors  are 
there,  and  devise  some  way  of  calling  Number  Nineteen's  attention 
to  them,  and  it  you  should  detect  in  him  any  sign  of  a  revival  of 
memory,  pray  do  your  best  to  awaken  it  thoroughly." 

•*  Very  well,  sir,  1  will  do  my  best." 

As  they  were  crossing  the  court -yard,  M.  Valbregue  turned  to  his 
other  companion,  and  said : 

*'  I  came  very  near  forgetting  to  give  you  this  little  package,  my 
dear  Houssais.  It  contains  a  bromide  powder  which  1  prescribed 
tor  one  of  my  patients.  It  disagrees  with  him  strangely.  When- 
ever he  takes  one,  he  complains  of  a  terrible  contraction  of  the  mus- 
cles ot  the  throat,  and  of  other  symptoms  very  like  those  of  lock 
jaw." 

*'  Those  are  some  of  the  most  noticeable  ettects  of  strychnine." 

**  I  know  it;  and  it  is  for  that  very  reason  1  beg  that  you  will  an- 
alyze the  compound.  Do  me  the  favor  to  send  me,  in  writing,  to- 
morrow morning,  the  result  of  your  analysis." 

'•  It  will  be  ready  for  you  to  day.  1  am  going  to  the  laboratory 
now." 

**  If  you  don't  use  the  entire  powder,  you  had  better  send  me  what 
you  have  left,  m  case  it  should  be  necessary  to  subject  the  com- 
pound to  another  analysis,"  remarked  the  doctor. 

With  this  final  recommendation,  M.  Valbregue  took  leave  of  the 
two  young  men  who  hastened  to  the  fencing-hall  to  have  a  contest 
before  breakfast,  and  while  they  were  engaged  in  this  pleasant  pas- 
time, the  existence  ot  the  patients  resumed  its  wonted  course. 

All  days  are  very  much  alike  at  the  hospital.  Nevertheless,  on 
Sundays,  the  inmates  array  themselves  in  their  best  to  receive  their 
friends — at  least,  such  as  have  any,  and  to  the  credit  of  the  Parisians 
it  must  be  said,  that  a  great  majority  of  the  invalids  have  friends 
warm  and  true. 

As  ]5eranger  says,  the  poor  are  not  happy,  but  the  third  line  of  the 
celebrated  refrain  of  the  *'  Gueux"  expresses  an  incontestable  truth: 
**  They  love  one  another." 

Number  Nineteen  did  not  seem  to  be  a  favorite,  however.  No  one 
had  called  to  see  him,  since  he  had  been  an  inmate  of  the  hospital; 
but  this  perhaps  might  be  due  to  the  fact  that  his  former  acquaint- 
an(  cs  did  not  know  his  whereabouts. 

After  eating  the  cutlet  brought-  him  for  his  breakfast,  he  went 
down  into  the  garden  as  usual. 

He  was  in  the  habit  of  spending  most  of  his  time  there,  smoking 
the  brier-wood  pipe  he  had  purchased  out  ot  the  sixty  francs 
found  in  liis  pocket  when  he  entered  the  hospital. 

All  the  convalescents  haunted  the  garden  from  morning  until  night. 
Some  walked  up  and  down  the  paths,  others  sat  on  the  benches  and 


BABIOLE,    THE    PKETTY    MILLINER.  8'? 

read,  but  !N umber  Nineteen  did  not  associate  with  any  of  them, 
not  because  their  education  was  inferior  to  his  own,  but  because  he 
did  not  know  what  to  say  to  them.  What  can  one  talk  about  when 
one  has  no  recollection  ot  the  past,  when  one  has  entirely  forgotten 
his  tormer  occupation,  aod  even  who  he  is?  Of  the  present?  At 
the  hospital  life  is  so  monotonous,  so  utterly  devoid  of  incident,  that 
there  is  nothing  to  say  about  it. 

The  patients  who  frequented  the  garden  were  nearly  all  respecta- 
ble working-men  who  discussed  the  matters  that  mterested  them 
most:  the  price  of  provisions  and  of  labor,  the  heartlessness  of  em- 
ployers, or  the  wife  and  children  left  at  home  to  long  for  the  return 
of  the  head  of  the  family  who  had  been  incapacitated  for  bread- 
winning  by  illness. 

Nor  did  they  seek  his  society,  though  he  showed  no  disposition 
to  put  on  airs,  as  they  said,  for  he  alwaj^s  answered  civilly  when  he 
was  spoken  to,  and  he  never  refused  tobacco  to  those  who  asked 
him  for  it. 

But  his  face  did  not  suit  their  fancy,  and  his  case,  curious  as  it 
was,  interested  them  but  slightly  from  the  fact  that  they  did  not 
understand  how  very  peculiar  it  was. 

Many,  in  fact,  did  not  believe  it  in  the  least,  and  had  formed  an 
opinion  diametrically  opposed  to  that  which  M.  Valbregue  had  just 
refuted. 

These  parties  said  that  Number  Nineteen  was  not  a  malefactor, 
who  was  striving  to  conceal  his  identity;  but,  on  the  contrary,  a  de- 
tective, disguised  as  a  patient,  in  order  to  play  the  spy  at  his  ease.  To 
play  the  spy  upon  whom?  They  did  not  specify  any  paiticular  per- 
son ;  they  could  not.  But  the  m'ore  improbable  a  thing  is,  the  more 
easily  it  seems  to  find  credence. 

The  natural  result  of  all  this  was  that  the  poor  fellow  was  almost 
always  alone.  What  was  he  thinking  of  that  day  as  he  sat  smoking 
under  the  trees?  It  was  impossible  to  say,  but  he  certainly  was 
thinking,  and  his  thoughts  engrossed  him  to  such  an  extent  as  to 
make  him  foiget  that  he  had  promised  the  physician  to  be  present 
when  the  public  was  admitted  to  the  ward. 

The  rule  is  that  on  Thursday  and  Sunday  at  the  hours  when  visit- 
ors are  admitted,  all  the  patients  must  be  in  the  wards.  Formerly, 
indeed,  they  were  obliged  to  be  in  bed,  as  if  for  the  physician's  visit. 

But  concessions  are  not  unfrequently  made,  and  the  nurses  made 
tluim  in  the  case  of  Number  Nineteen,  who  gave  them  ^pourboire  of 
forty  sous  each  week;  and  on  this  occasion  they  allowed  him  to  re- 
main in  the  garden  the  more  willingly  from  the  fact  that  they  had 
not  heard  Monsieur  Valbregue's  request. 

Still,  the  day  would  have  been  well  chosen  to  seek  a  meeting  with 
some  acquaintance,  for  the  hospital  was  filled  to  oveiflo:ving  with 
worthy  people  who  had  taken  advantage  of  this  opportunity  to  bring 
the  invalids  consolation  and  food — more  especially  food — on  account 
of  the  general  and  very  erroneous  impression  that  the  department 
of  public  charities  starves  its  pensioners. 

The  Saint  Ferdinand  ward  was  crowded  with  them.  Out  of  the 
forty  beds  there  were  but  six  that  were  not  surrounded  by  visitors. 

There  were  wives,  and  mothers,  and  children  without  number, 


88  BABIOLE,   THE    PBETTY    MILLliq"EB. 

but  not  nearly  as  many  men.  Not  that  men  have  not  equally  kind 
hearts,  but  the  wine  shops  sometime  stops  them  on  the  way. 

Not  a  single  person  came  empty-handed.  Certain  gifts  are  not 
forbidden— such  as  fruit,  tobacco,  and  flowers — provided  there  are 
not  too  many  ot  them,  and  the  perfume  of  them  is  not  too  strong — 
and  there  is  quite  a  display  of  gifts  upon  each  little  table  and  upon 
the  shelf  over  the  head  of  each  bed. 

The  attendants  are  polite.  They  are  looking  forw^ard  to  the  week- 
ly gratuity  brought  by  the  relatives. 

The  whole  ward  wears  a  gala  air. 

Death  is  close  at  hand,  on  thai  day,  as  on  every  other,  and  there 
is  bitter  weeping,  but  those  who  weep  conceal  their  faces  in  their 
handkerchiefs;  and  death,  as  if  out  of  regard  for  the  visitors,  usually 
ehooses  some  other  hour  to  seize  his  victim. 

Number  Twenty,  who  occupied  the  last  bed  on  the  row  to  the 
right,  was  alone;  but  he  evidently  expected  some  one,  for  he  had 
combed  his  hair  carefully,  and  was  now  sitting  up  in  bed,  propped 
up  with  pillows. 

A  young  girl  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  ward,  and  after  hesitat- 
ing a  moment,  .walked  with  an  uncertain  step  up  the  room,  between 
the  two  rows  of  little  white  beds. 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  this  was  her  first  visit  to  the  hospital,  and 
that  she  did  not  know  exactly  where  to  look  for  the  friend  she  was 
seeking,  for  she  glanced  at  the  number  aflSxed  to  each  bed  as  she 


A  woman,  who  was  still  young,  and  who  was  miserably  clad,  en- 
tered the  ward  at  almost  the  same  moment  and  walked  along  beside 
her. 

She  knew  very  well  where  she  wished  to  go,  however;  but  the 
further  she  advanced,  the  paler  she  grew.  Suddenly  she  paused  a 
few  steps  from  Number  Ten.  The  bed  had  already  been  freshly 
made,  but  it  was  empty. 

The  woman  gazed  fixedly  at  the  white  sheets  and  the  looped-back 
curtains,  but  she  dared  advance  no  further.  An  attendant  passed. 
She  gave  him  a  questioning  look,  and  he  replied  in  subdued  tones: 
*'  Last  night  at  three  o'clock."  She  uttered  not  a  word,  but  tottered 
as  if  about  to  tall,  and  two  big  tears  rolled  down  her  thin  cheeks. 

The  young  girl  beside  her  understood,  and  her  heart  sunk  like 
lead;  but  almost  immediately  she  caught  sight  of  Number  Twenty, 
and  hastened  to  him. 

"  So  here  you  are,  little  one!"  he  exclaimed,  kissing  hei  affection- 
ately. **  1  was  sure  that  1  should  see  you  today;  but  1  am  none 
the  less  grateful  to  you  for  coming.  It  shows  that  you  have  not  for- 
gotten your  Uncle  August.'' 

**  Forget  you!  the  only  friend  1  have  left  in  the  world  now  that 
my  mother  is  dead.  Yesterday,  when  1  received  your  letter  I  want- 
ed to  hasten  to  you,  but  Madame  Divet  told  me  1  would  be  refused 
admission;  and  as  you  said  in  your  letter  that  your  illness  was  not 
serious — " 

"  It  is  of  no  consequence  whatever,  my  little  Babiole.  The  doctor 
promised  me  this  morning  that  1  should  be  out  in  a  week.  1  had  a 
very  comfortable  night,  too,  though  only  yesterday  I  thought  my 
condition  tjuite  desperate." 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLINER.  89 

"  But  why  didn't  you  remain  at  home  instead  of  shutting  your- 
self up  in  this  horrid  hospital?  I  would  have  come  and  nursed 
you." 

'*  You  had  something  else  to  do;  besides,  my  room  is  too  small, 
and  an  old  trooper  like  myself  is  not  afraid  of  a  hospital.'' 

"  Oh,  uncle!  it  you  knew  what  1  just  saw!  a  woman  looking  for 
the  husband  she  will  never  see  again." 

''  Yes.  Number  Ten.  He  is  dead.  Such  things  will  happen. 
Tell  me  something  more  cheerful.  How  is  Madame  Divet?  And 
when  are  you  to  be  promoted  to  the  position  of  forewoman?" 

"Never,  perhaps.  I  am  by  no  means  sure  that  1  shall  remain 
any  longer  in  the  establishment." 

"Why?"  demanded  Uncle  August,  frowning.  "Do  you  want 
to  go  to  the  bad?" 

"It  is  precisely  because  1  do  not  want  to  go  to  the  bad  that  1 
think  of  leaving  Madame  Divet." 

"  What!"  exclaimed  'iJncle  Augiiste,  "  is  that  bunch  of  fuss  and 
feathers  giving  you  bad  advice?" 

"  V^orse  than  that.  She  had  two  tickets  for  the  opera  comique 
yesterday,  and  she  invited  me  to  go  with  her.  1  ought  to  have  re- 
fused, but  she  urged  me  so  strondy  that  1  finall}^  consented,  and  I 
was  well  punished  for  it.  Would  you  believe  it,  the  seats  were 
given  her  by  a  gentleman  who  was  waitmg  for  us  at  the  door  as  wg 
left  the  theater  to  take  us  to  sup  with  him." 

*'  Did  you  go?" 

"  Not  1.  In  the  first  place  I  don't  sup  with  gviutlemen,  and  even 
if  1  wanted  to  1  would  not  have  supped  with  this  one.  He  was  too 
old,  too  ugly,  and  too  common-looking.  Madame  Divet  told  me  he 
was  a  rich  broker,  but  i  think  he  looks  more.  like  a  butcher.  Any 
w^ay  I  bade  my  employer  good  evening  and  left  her.  How  she  must 
have  fumed,  and  the  man  too!" 

"  Y^ou  did  quite  right,  Babiole;  and  you  will  do  still  better  to 
leave  her.  I'll  find  you  another  place  as  soon  as  I  leave  the  hos- 
pital, and  I'll  tell  the  old  wretch  what  I  thinR  of  hei,  too.  You  see 
it  is  not  safe  to  trust  to  appearances.  And  to  think  that  1  chose  the 
place  for  you!  But  you  shall  not  remain  there  a  day  longer.  1 
don't  intend  my  poor  sister's  daughter  to  be  exposed  to  dangers  of 
that  kind.  If  j^ou  go  astray,  child,  you  will  be  the  first  in  our 
family  to  do  it." 

"  There  is  no  danger,  uncle,  and  1  promise  you — ** 

Babiole  suddenly  paused.  She  had  just  become  aware  that  a 
young  man  in  a  tvhite  apron  was  gazing  at  her  with  annoying  per- 
sistency. 

It  was  Bosc,  making  the  round  prescribed  by  his  superior  officer. 
Having  unexpectedly  discovered  a  pretty  girl,  he  was  feasting  his 
eyes  upon  her;  but  as  she  immediately  turned  her  back  on  him,  he 
vented  his  ill-humor  upon  a  nurse  who  happened  to  be  passing  at 
the  time. 

"  Why  is  not  Number  Nineteen  here?"  he  inquired,  angrily. 

"  He  is  in  the  garden,"  stammered  the  attendant. 

"  Fetcir  him  at  once,  and  don't  let  him  leave  the  ward  again  until 
after  visiting  hours." 

The  attendant  sulkily  obeyed,  and  Bosc  walked  away,  not  wiiU* 


90  BABIOLE,    THE    PEETTY    MILLINER. 

out  turning  more  than  once  to  catch  another  glimpse  of  the  pretty 
girl  who  had  attracted  his  attention;  but  receiving  no  encourage 
ment  whatever,  he  went  to  announce  his  discovery  to  some  of  hisf 
comrades,  resolving  to  return  and  take  another  look  before  the  de- 
parture of  the  visitors. 

"  Is  that  young  man  the  doctor?"  inquired  Babiole. 

*'  No;  he  is  a  sort  of  assistant  superintendent." 

"  A.re  patients  forbidden  to  walk  in  the  garden?" 

"  No,  certainly  not.  Number  Nineteen  was  sent  for  at  the  espe- 
cial request  of  the  head-physician." 

**  Number  Nineteen?" 

"Yes;  the  patient  who  occupies  the  bed  opposite  mine,  lam 
Number  Twenty.  One  is  not  know^n  by  one's  name  here;  besides, 
this  man  has  none." 

"  No  name?  Impossible!" 

•*  It  is  exactly  as  1  tell  you.  Look  at  his  card.  It  bears  the  date 
of  his  admission  and  the  name  of  his  malady;  but  the  place  where 
the  name  and  profession  are  usually  given  is  left  empty,  while  upon 
mine  you  can  read  in  large  letters,  Auguste  Brochard,  collection 
clerk." 

**  But  how  can  this  unfortunate  man  have  forgotten  his?" 

"It  is  a  strange  story.  It  seems  that  he  fell  and  injurert  his  head, 
thus  causing  a  total  loss  of  memory.  This  morning  the  major,  1 
mean  the  doctoi,  talked  with  him  for  ten  minutes  or  more,  and  I 
heard  all  he  said.  He  may  be  a  very  learned  man;  but  in  my  opin- 
ion, this  patient  is  tooling  him  completely.  He  pretends  to  remem- 
ber nothing,  but  he  is  no'more  mad  than  1  am.  He  is  only  pretend- 
ing." 

"  But  what  can  be  his  object?" 

"  Probably  to  conceal  some  crime  he  committed  before  coming 
here.  1  have  an  idea  that  he  is  some  defaulting  cashier  who  has 
taken  refuge  in  the  Necker  while  the  police  are  hunting  for  him  in 
Belgium  or  America.  1  don't  know  him,  but  it  seems  to  me  1  have 
seen  him  somewhert  or  other." 

**  Haven't  jon  tried  to  talk  with  him?" 

*'  Not  yet.  1  came  only  yesterday;  besides,  1  take  no  interest  in 
his  affairs.     1  am  not  w^orking  for  tlie  police." 

'  You  are  quite  right.  1  am  sure  that  1  could  never  make  up  my 
mind  to  denounce  any  one— not  even  a  thief." 

"  Besides,  rich  people  don't  deserve  much  consideration.  They 
are  so  mean  and  unscrupulous.  Do  you  remember  that  scoundrel 
Chaulcpie  who  ruined  your  father?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  for  1  saw  him  only  a  short  time  ago." 

"  Well,  it  would  be  hard  for  you  to  guess  what  has  become  of 
him.  After  his  rascality  of  ten  years  ago,  we  thought  he  would  take 
up  his  abode  in  some  foreign  land.  But  he  did  nothmg  of  the  kind. 
He  is  now  in  a  very  respectal)le  banking-house—  that  of  Verneile — 
on  the  Rue  Bergdre,  and  the  strangest  thing  of  it  idl  is  that  he  is 
cashier  there.  1  went  there  the  other  day  to  collect  a  note,  and  he 
paid  me." 

*'  Did  he  recognize  you?" 

"  No,  I  think'^not;  at  least,  he  said  nothing  to  me;  but  1  longed  to 
iialt  strangle  him  and  then  go  and  warn  Verneile  that  his  safe  was 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLINER.  91 

fn  very  unsafe  hands.  Bin  on  reflection  I  concUided  to  keep  quiet. 
There  was  no  chance  of  Chautepie's  lepayiug  the  nione}^  of  which 
he  defrauded  your  father,  for  even  at  the  time  we  were  unable  to 
prove  that  he  had  put  it  in  his  pocket  instead  of  losing  it  at  the 
Bourse,  as  he  pretended.  Besides,  Vernelle  is  notlnng  to  me.  He 
has  misplaced  his  contidence,  and  he  must  suffer  for  it.  1  heaid 
only  day  before  yesterday  at  the  bank  that  he  had  lost  heavilj  in 
stocks;  so  much  the  wm  rse  for  him." 

**  Poor  man!  It  was  doubtless  tliat  wretch  Chnutepie  who  urged 
him  to  speculate — as  he  urged  my  poor  father — and  he  has  probably 
enriched  himself  at  his  emp  oyer's  expense.  He,  too,  has  a  daughter, 
perhaps— this  Monsieur  Vernelle—" 

*'  Yes,  he  has;  but  she  will  never  know  positive  want,  for  Vernelle 
is  very  wealthy.  The  loss  of  two  or  three  millions  will  not  prevent 
his  daughter  from  making  a  brilliant  match,  while  you,  Babiole,  are 
reduced  to  making  bonnets.  And  for  whom?  For  an  old  hussy 
who  is  tiying  to  naike  money  out  of  j^our  beaut}'.  Ah!  won't  1  give 
her  a  piece  of  my  mind  when  I  get  out  of  this  place!  And  if  I 
knew  the  broker  who  was  in  league  with  her.  1  d  teach  him  that 
he  must  respect  the  niece  of  an  old  soldier." 

'*  1  assure  jou  that  it  w^ould  not  be  woith  while,  uncle,  particu- 
larly as  it  is  not  at  all  probable  that  he  will  ^ive  me  any  further 
trouble,  as  it  is  now  decided  that  I  am  not  to  return  to  Madame  Div- 
et's.  You  will  find  me  another  place;  and  in  ihe  meantime,  you 
need  feel  no  anxiety  about  me.     1  have  a  little  monej''  laid  by." 

**  Yes,  1  know  that  you  are  very  prudent ;  but  in  some  other  shop 
it  w  ill  be  just  the  same.  You  are  very  pretty,  and  are  consequently 
as  sure  to  attract  imm  as  a  candle  is  to  attract  moths." 

"Ah,  well,  moths  generallv  come  to  griel  in  the  candle,"  was 
Babiole's  laughini;  response. 

"  Yes;  but  a  girl  like  you  cannot  intend  to  be  an  old  maid." 

"  Oh,  I  have  plenty  of  time  to  consider  that  subject,  as  one  can't 
be  called  an  old  maid  before  one  is  twenty-live,  and  1  was  only  six- 
teen last  September." 

"  But  fine  gentlemen  are  just  as  sure  to  hang  around  milliner  shops 
as  water  is  to" flow  under  the  bridges;  so  you  see,  little  one,  the  best 
thing  for  3^ou  to  do  is  to  get  maiTied." 

"  1  am  in  no  hurry  about  that." 

*'  ^OY  should  1  be,  under  other  circumstances,  foi  you  are  still 
rather  too  young;  but  that  w^ould  not  prevrt^nt  me  from  being  well 
pleased  to  take  you  to  the  mayor's  office  if  1  knew  any  worthy  young 
man  who  wanted  you.  But  perhaps  you  are  ambitious,  and  unwill- 
inff  to  many  a  mere  clerk." 

'*  Certainly  not,  if  I  loved  him.  1  ffm  not  foolish  enough  to  im- 
agine that  an  embassador  will  come  to  sue  for  my  hand." 

'*  They  have  been  known  to  marry  w^omen  much  inferior  to  you 
in  every  respect.  But  if  any  s^vell  should  ask  me  for  you,  I  should 
refuse  him  flatly.  1  know  these  men.  They  w^ouid  desert  you  in 
less  than  six  months.  What  1  would  prefer  for  you,  is  a  young 
man,  not  rich,  but  capable  of  becoming  so  by  reason  of  industry  and 
steady  habits." 

'*  That  would  suit  me,  provided  he  was  kind,  well-bred,  and  n<^t 
too  ugly." 


92  BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY     MILLINER. 

"Of  course.  WeJl,  such  a  person  can  he  lound  perhaps.  1  Trill 
look  for  him. " 

*'  Yes,  uncle,  look  for  him,"  said  Babiole.  "  I  shall  not  attempt 
It.     1  am  too  much  afraid  of  making  a  mistake." 

'*  You  are  right.  At  your  age,  it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  the 
counterfeit  from  the  genuine  article;  and  provided  the  coin  shines, 
one  does  not  think  to  test  it.  So  it  is  settled.  You  are  to  remain 
quietly  at  home  until  1  leave  here.  But  how  will  you  pass  the  time 
away?" 

**  Oh,  you  need  have  no  fears.  1  never  suffer  from  ennui.  1  have 
my  rooms  to  take  care  of;  my  birds  must  be  fed,  and  1  sing  and 
read — " 

'*  Novels,  1  suppose.  That  is  a  pity.  They  are  sure  to  turn  young 
girls'  heads  sooner  or  later." 

*'  I  don't  care  much  for  novels.     1  prefer  plays." 

**  They  are  not  much  better.  By  the  way,  do  you  ever  see  any- 
thing of  your  neighbor?" 

'*  1  have  no  neighbor,  now." 

'•  What,  are  you  alone  on  the  fourth  floor?" 

The  rooms  opposite  mine  were  occupied  by  a  gentleman.  He  wont 
out  one  evening  and  nothing  has  been  seen  or  heard  of  him  since. 
No  one  knows  wiiat  has  become  of  him.  It  is  strange,  isn't  it?  But 
it  is  true,  nevertheless.  His  furniture  is  to  be  sold,  the  concierge 
tella  me;  and  the  rooms  have  been  advertised  for  rent.  It  is  no  great 
loss  to  me,  however.  1  used  to  meet  him  occasionally  on  the 
stairs;  but  1  never  spoke  to  him,  and  1  don't  believe  he  could  tell 
whether  J  was  young  or  old,  tor  he  never  even  looked  at  me." 

"  What  did  the  gentleman  do?" 

*'  He  was  employed  in  a  mercantile  hpuse  on  the  Hue  du  gentler, 
1  believe." 

**  He  was  probably  sent  to  collect  some  money  and  he  has  made 
off  with  it." 

"  That  is  possible,  though  he  was  an  honest,  steady  looking  young 
man." 

*'  So  was  Ch£.utepie,  but  that  did  not  prevent  him  from  being  a 
scoundrel." 

*'  They  are  not  unlike  in  appears  nee,  but  yet,  until  1  am  convinced 
to  the  contrary,  1  shall  not  believe  that  my  neighbor  was  a  thief.  1 
made  some  inquiries  about  him  of  his  most  intimate  friend,  who 
told  me  that  Monsieur  Marbeuf  was  obliged  to  leave  the  city  sud- 
denly on  account  of  very  urgent  business." 

"  So  you  are  acquainted  with  his  friends?" 

*'  With  one  of  them,  though  1  have  met  him  but  twice,  once  at 
home,  and  once  at  the  theater." 

**  I  would  advise  you  to  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  him.  The 
intimate  triend  of  a  runaway  clerk  cannot  be  a  very  desirable  ac- 
quaintance." 

Babiole  was  about  to  tell  her  uncle  the  service  Subligny  had  ren- 
dered her  the  evening  before,  but  this  remark  caused  her  to  abstain 
from  a  fear  of  being  scolded. 

*'  1  came  near  forgetting  that  1  brought  you  some  chocolate,"  she  ; 
said,  depositing  a  little  package  on  the  table.     *'  They  trieci  to  tfike 
it  from  me  at  the  door,  but  1  begged  si>  hard  they  finally  consented.  ' 


BABIOLE,    THE    PKETTY    MILLINER.  93 

''Thanks,  little  one,"  said  Uncle  A^uguste  affectionately.  *' 1 
shall  enjoy  eating  it  very  much  when  the  doctor  will  permit  it. 
Just  now  I  am  confined  to  tea  and  toast.  He  says,  loo,  that  1  must 
not  talk  too  much." 

*'  Do  you  mean  that  1  must  go  away  now?" 
•*  Oh,  no;  remain  as  long  as  you  can,  and  talk  as  much  as  you 
like.     I  must  not  answer  you,  but  1  can  listen  to  you,  and  that  will 
console  me. 

'*  Ah,  here  comes  the  assistant  superintendent  again.  He  wants 
to  make  eyes  at  you  again,  1  suppose.  He  had  better  not  try  to 
carry  things  too  far.     If  he  does,  1  shall  snub  him  as  he  deserves." 

Bosc  was,  in  fact,  returning,  in  company  with  Number  Nineteen 
whom  he  had  met  on  the  staircase.  He  was  talking  with  him,  and 
making  fun  of  the  visitors  in  order  to  draw  this  strange  patient's 
attention  to  them,  and  see  it  he  recognized  any  of  them. 

"Good  Heaven!"  murmured  Babiole,  as  soon  as  she  perceived 
him.     '*  I  cannot  be  mistaken — it  is  he." 
"Who?"  demanded  the  uncle. 
"  The  gentleman  with  the  beard*—" 

"  Ele  is  the  patient  who  has  forgotten  his  name  or  who  will  not 
tell  it." 
"  Well,  that  is  certainly  Monsieur  Marbeuf,  my  former  neighbor." 
"  Are  you  suie  of  it?' 

"  Perfectly  sure.  He  is  greatly  changed,  and  much  thinner,  but 
it  is  he,  nevertheless." 

"  We  will  soon  know.  I  have  only  to  call  the  superintendent 
and  ask  him—" 

"  Oh  no,  no.     Pray  don*t." 

*'  What,  don't  you  wish  me  to  disclose  his  name?" 
**  1  should  be  very  sorry  to  have  you  do  so.     You  said,  only  a  mo- 
ment, ago,  that  nothiag  could  induce  you  to  inform  on  any  one." 
"  But  that  would  not  be  informing  on  him." 
"  It  would  be  equivalent  to  that,  as  you  think  he  has  committed 
some  crime  and  is  desirous  of  concealing  his  name." 

"  I  may  be  mistaken.  Besides,  ne  will  be  sure  to  recognize  you.'* 
**  If  he  recognizes  me,  and  speaks  to  me,  that  will  be  sufficient 
proof  that  he  has  no  cause  to  reproach  himself.  In  that  case,  1  shall 
answer  him,  and  remind  him  that  we  were  neighbors  on  the  Rue 
Lamartme.  But  if  he  does  not  address  me,  1  shall  be  silent.  1 
have  no  desire  to  injure  him.     That  would  bring  us  bad  luck." 

"  You  are  rignt,  child,  I  would  much  rather  that  you  did  not  mix 
yourself  up  in  the  affair.  You  would  perhaps  be  obliged  to  go  be- 
fore a  commissioner  of  police  and  explain.  Besides,  the  man  has 
never  injured  us,  and  1  don't  see  why  we  should  betray  him." 

**  It  is  a  pity  though,  for  1  should  dearly  love  to  show  these  doc- 
tors what  asses  they  are." 

One  often  hears  such  chaiitable  wishes  expressed  in  hospitals. 

Patient^,  in  general,  detest  those  who  care  for  them  gratis,  and  whom 

they  ought  to  bless.     Human  beings  are  proverbially  ungrateful. 

^     Nor  was  Babiole's  desire  to  keep  her  recognition  of  Marbeut  a 

f  secret  due  solely  to  an  unwillingness  to  injure  him.     She  remem- 

■  bered  that  Andre  was  the  intimate  friend  of  this  Marbeuf ,  whom  she 

was  beginning  to  believ^e  guilty  of  some  great  crime,  for  she  recoj- 


94  BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLINER. 

lected  well  the  night  when  Andre  sat  awaiting  his  comrarle*s  return; 
and  she  knew  now  that  Marbeuf's  strange  disappearance  had  made 
Andre  resolve  to  kill  himself. 

Being  aware  of  these  facts,  Babiole  instantly  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion either  that  Marbeuf  must  have  taken  his  friend's  money  away 
with  him,  or  that  he  had  induced  Andre  to  engage  in  some  com- 
promising enterprise,  and  then  fled,  leaving  him  to  face  the  storm. 
Nevertheless,  Andre  must  have  forgiven  him,  as  only  the  evening 
before  he  had  told  Babiole  that  business  had  compelled  Marbeuf  to 
leave  Paris  very  unexpectedly;  hence  Babiole  was  obliged  to  keep 
silence  under  penalty  of  offendmg  Andre,  or  even  injuring  him. 

As  she  had  prevailed  upon  her  uncle  by  resorting  to  other  argu- 
ments, there  was  a  strong  probability  that  Number  Nmeteen  would 
remain  what  he  was — a  nameless  patient,  a  living  mystery — to  the 
great  chagrin  of  the  physician  who  had  undertaken  to  cure  him — 
that  is,  unless  Number  Nineteen  should  recognize  Babiole,  which 
was  scarcely  probable,  since  he  had  scaicely  looked  at  her  on  the 
Rue  Lamarline. 

He  advanced  slowly,  escorted  by  the  assistant  superintendent  who 
was  watching  the  young  girl  out  of  the  corner  ot  his  eye,  and  who 
did  not  tail  to  call  Marbeuf's  attention  to  her  by  a  gentle  nudge. 

Marbeuf  glanced  at  her,  and  seemed  to  take  pleasure  in  looking 
at  her;  but  he  manifested  neither  surprise  nor  emotion. 

He  was  pleased  to  see  a  pretty  face,  and  that  was  all. 

"  1  think  you  must  be  grateful  to  me  now  for  having  sent  for 
you,"  remarked  Bosc,  raising  his  voice,  so  as  to  be  beard  by  Babiole 
and  her  uncle.  **  You  were  walking  about  there  under  the  leafless 
trees,  with  no  horizon  but  the  walls,  while  the  prospect  here  is  much 
more  agreeable. ' ' 

'*  But  not  for  long,"  replied  Number  Nineteen,  smiling  sadly. 

'*  For  twenty  minutes  lon<rer,  at  least,"  replied  his  companion, 
glancing  at  his  watch,  "  and  aftcrw^ard,  you  can  think  ot  the  persons 
you  are  now  looking  at.  They  will  return  next  Thursday,  perhaps, 
and  if  you  recognize  them  when  they  do  come,  that  will  be  making 
some  progress. ' ' 

"  Well,  comrade,  how  do  you  feel  to-day?"  cried  Uncle  Auguste, 
wiio  could  hold  his  tongue  no  longer. 

*'  About  the  same,"  was  Marbeuf's  gloomy  reply. 

"  1  was  just  relating  your  history  to  my  niece,  and  she  would  not 
believe  me." 

"  I  can  very  readily  understand  why  mademoiselle  should  find  it 
difficult  to  believe  it.  There  are  moments  when  I  can  scarcely  be- 
lieve it  myself." 

**  It  is  so  extraordinary,"  stammered  Babiole,  who  was  on  nettles. 

"  So  extraordinary,  mademoiselle,"  said  Bosc,  delighted  to  have 
an  opportunity  to  enter  into  conversation  with  such  a  pretty  young 
girl,  *'  so  extraordinary  that  only  a  few^  hours  ago  one  of  the  students 
expressed  the  opinion  that  this  worthy  fellow^  was  only  fooling  us, 
and  that  he  could  tell  us  his  name  and  history  if  he  chose." 

'*  I  only  wish  1  could,"  replied  Marbeuf.  *'  1  assure  you  1  would 
not  be  vegetating  here." 

**  Oh,  you  will  soon  be  at  liberty.  One  of  these  days,  it  other 
means  prove  ineffectual,  Monsieur  Valbr^gue  will  probably  decide 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLINER.  95 

to  take  you  about  the  city.  It  1  were  master  here,  it  would  have 
been  done  before  this.  1  have  suggested  the  idea  to  him,  and  1 
will  again." 

"  1  thank  you,  sir,  for  1  firmly  believe  that  it  is  the  only  way  to 
cure  me.  The  sight  ol  some  familiar  object,  a  shop  or  a  sign,  will 
perhaps  suffice  to  restore  the  lost  thread  ot  my  recollections.  And 
now  1  think  of  il,"  he  added  in  subdued  tones  and  turning  to  Bosc, 
"  a  moment  ago,  when  1  perceived  mademoiselle,  it  seemed  tome 
that  this  was  not  the  first  lime  I  had  seen  her.  I  thought  of  a  stair- 
case, and  a  porter's  lodge,  and  in  some  waj^  connected  her  with 
them.  It  was  absurd,  of  course;  but  the  Impression  lasted  only  for 
a  second.  1  was  deceived,  of  course;  mademoiselle's  face  is  not 
one  to  be  forgotten  when  one  has  once  seen  it.  But  a  meeting  with 
some  other  person  might  illumine  my  poor  brain  which  is  always 
enshrouded  in  darkness  naw. 

'•  In  the  meantime,"  he  continued  sadly,  *'  there  is  nothing  for  me 
to  do  but  have  patience,  for  1  am  obliged  to  admit  that  all  my 
etiorts  to  remember  only  result  in  fatiguing:  me.  For  instance,  ever 
since  this  morning,  I  have  been  constantly  racking  my  brain,  and  1 
am  as  exhausted  as  if  I  had  been  tramping  over  plowed  ground 
for  hours.  1  can  scarcely  stand,  and  when  the  nurse  called  me,  I 
was  ju>t  coming  up  to  go  to  bed." 

*'  Then  lie  down,  my  friend,  and  try  to  sleep,"  said  Bosc.  kindly. 

**  1  am  going  to  try.  Excuse  me,  mademoiselle,"  said  Marbeuf, 
politely,  raising  his  voice. 

Babiole  bowed  without  replying.     There  were  tears  in  her  eves. 

Marbeuf  lay  down;  but  little  Bosc  did  not  allow  the  conversa- 
tion to  drop. 

"  Mademoiselle,  you  have  almost  effected  a  marvelous  cure,"  he 
said,  gayly.  ,  '*  A  little  more,  and  your  presence  tvould  have  dis- 
pelled the  darkness  that  enshrouds  our  famous  patient,  and  all  the 
savants  at  the  Academy  of  Medicine  would  be  talking  of  you." 

"  1  cannot  say  that  I  am  at  all  particular  about  that,"  murmured 
Babiole. 

**  Then  you  never  really  saw  him  before  you  came  here?"  in- 
quired Bosc. 

**No,  sir." 

•*  Do  you  take  my  niece  for  the  head  of  an  intelligence  bureau?" 
growled  Uncle  Auguste. 

"  You  are  quick  to  take  offense,  it  seems  to  me.  You  make  a 
great  mistake  to  get  so  excited.  It  may  do  you  a  serious  injury  in 
your  present  condiiion." 

**  Do  you  consider  my  uncle  dangerously  ill?"  inquired  Babiole, 
hurriedly. 

'*  Oh,  no,  he  is  out  of  danger,  but  we  must  avoid  a  relaose.  Re- 
lapses are  very  dangerous  things,  and  it  is  for  that  reason  I  beg  him 
not  to  allow  himself  to  become  excited.  But  some  one  is  waiting 
for  me,  so  1  must  bid  you  good-rnoruing,  mademoiselle. 

**  But  one  word  of  advice,  if  you  will  permit  it.  Relate  Number 
Kineteen's  history  to  all  your  acquaintances — you  may  be  of  great 
assistance  to  us  in  that  way— and  add  to  it  a  description  of  his  per- 
sonal appearance.  You  luay  know  some  oiie  who  can  put  us  ou  t|i9 
right  track," 


96  BABIOLE,    THE    PKETTY    MILLINER. 

And  lifting  the  skull  cap  that  coveied  tlic  head  already  denuded 
of  much  ot  its  natural  covering  by  midnight  studies,  probably,  Bosc 
moved  away  with  the  noiseless  step  one  quickly  acquires  when  one 
treads  the  wards  of  a  hospital. 

'*  A  fine  idea,  indeed,  tor  that  numskull  to  give  you  a  commis- 
sion like  that!"-  muttered  Uncle  Auguste,  sullenly.  '  *  It  will  be  no 
very  difficult  matter,  but  1  would  do  nothing  ot  the  kind.  1  am  not 
at  all  anxious  to  oblige  the  little  fool.  1  think  it  would  be  much  bet- 
ter, now  that  he  has  gone  away,  to  ask  Number  Nineteen  if  he  does 
not  remember  you." 

'•  No,  no,  not  to-day,"  replied  Babioie.  '*  Don't  you  see  that  he  is 
asleep?" 

**  Asleep— or  pretending  to  sleep,  1  don't  know  which." 

**  Besides,  the  clock  has  just  struck  three,  and  1  shall  have  to  go 
with  all  the  rest  ot  the  visitors.  Will  you  promise  me  not  to  say 
anjMhing  to  him  about  me  until  next  Thursday?" 

'*  With  pleasure.  I  am  more  and  more  convinced  that  this  fellow 
has  been  guilty  of  sonie  crime,  and  I  have  no  desire  to  become  any 
better  acquainted  with  him." 

"  1  shall  be  able  to  ascertain  between  now^  and  Thursday;  and  on 
my  next  visit,  I  will  tell  you  what  1  have  learned." 

'*  Very  well.  1  am  not  particularly  anxious  to  know,  however. 
Write  to  Madame  Divet,  resignmg  your  position,  and  remain  quietly 
at  home.  I  will  attend  to  all  the  rest.  But  you  will  haee  :^o  go 
now.     Kiss  me,  child." 

Babioie  kissed  her  uncle  affectionately  upon  both  cheeks,  and  fol- 
lowed the  crowd,  after  casting  another  glance  at  the  sleeping  Mar- 
beuf. 

The  visitors  were  departing,  gay  rather,  than  sad,  for  it  is  more 
natural  to  hope  than  to  despair,  though  there  were  not  a  few  who 
would  never  again  see  the  loved  ones  to  whom  they  had  just  bidden 
adisu. 

Babioie,  wiio  had  been  sitting  at  the  further  end  of  the  ward,  of 
course  found  herself  at  the  very  end  of  the  long  procession  of  visit- 
ors, and  it  was  useless  for  her  to  attempt  to  force  her  way  through 
it.  Nor  was  she  in  any  haste;  she  was  thinking  of  the  two  friends 
who  had  been  her  neighbors,  though  she  was  thinking  much  more 
about  Andre  than  Marbeuf. 

*•  1  must  see  him,"  she  said  to  herself,  ''  but  where  shall  I  find 
him?  1  forgot  to  ask  him  tor  his  address  last  evening.  He  promised 
to  come  and  see  me,  but  will  he  keep  his  promise?  Besides,  1  can 
not  defer  telling  him  what  is  going  on  here.  If  1  only  knew  in  what 
banking  house  he  is  emplo3^ed!  But  now  1  think  of  it,  my  uncle 
just  told  me  that  Chautepie  is  cashier  at  Monsieur  Vernelle's  on  the 
Rue  Berg^re— and  Monsieur  Andre  told  me  he  saw  Chautepie  every 
(lay— so\hey  must  both  be  employed  in  the  same  house.  Ah,  well, 
I  will  go  there,  and  ask  for  him." 

These  thoughts  passed  through  Babiole's  mind  as  she  was  de- 
scending the  stairs.  The  ward  she  had  just  visited  was  on  one  of 
the  upper  floors,  and  there  were  many  steps  that  must  be  passed  in 
order  to  reach  it  or  leave  it. 

Babioie  had  bee»  one  of  the  last  to  leave  the  room,  aD(3  sjje  ^QW 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLIKER.  97 

found  herself  quite  alone,  the  oiher  visitors  having  reached  the 
street. 

**  Yes,"  she  thought,  '*  mj'^  uncle  told  me  that  this  Monsieur 
Vernelle  has  a  daughter.  It  was  with  them  that  Monsieur  Andre 
attended  the  opera  last  evening.  The}'  lett  very  suddenly.  The  fa- 
ther had  perhaps  received  bad  news.  My  uncle  assures  me  that  the 
gentleman  has  been  speculating  of  late,  and  that  he  has  lost  heavily. 
Suppose  I  go  back,  and  ask  him  the  exact  address?" 

She  had  paused  in  tne  hall,  but  she  had  not  noticed  Bosc  who  was 
smoking  his  pipe  in  the  doorway  of  the  guard-room. 

*'  Mademoiselle,"  he  began,  stepping  forward,  and  politely  remov- 
ing his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  "  1  presume  you  have  forgotten  some- 
thing.    Tell  Dae  what  it  is,  and  1  will  go  up  and  get  it  for  you." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  but  1  will  go  myself,"  replied  the  young  girl, 
astonished  beyond  measure. 

*'  The  visiting  hour  is  o\rer  and  you  will  not  be  allowed  to  enter. 
Tell  me,  is  it  a  parasol  or  an  umbrella  you  left?" 

"  No,  sir,  there  is  a  question  I  forgot  to  ask  my  uncle — " 

"  Very  well.  1  will  deliver  any  message  for  you  and  bring  you 
the  answer." 

**  You  are  very  kind,  but  I  will  not  trouble  you.  It  is  not  a  mat- 
ter of  much  importance,  and  as  1  shall  return  on  Thursday — " 

**  You  evidently  have  not  much  confidence  in  me,"  said  Bosc, 
laughing.  "Just  now,  when  1  tried  to  talk  to  you  in  the  ward 
about  ;N  umber  Nineteen,  you  scarcely  condescended  to  answer  me 
— and  your  uncle  snubbed  me  in  the  most  emphatic  manner.  Your 
uncle  has  not  a  very  genial  air,  but  that  will  not  prevent  me  from 
taking  good  caie  of  him  for  his  niece's  sake." 

**  I'tliank  3^ou  very  much,  sir,"  said  Babiole,  blushing  a  little. 

"  Then  1  promise  to  cure  him  very  quickly  which  will  be  very 
disinterested  on  m}^  part,  for  when  he  is  gone,  your  visits  will  cease. 
In  the  meantime,  you  ought  to  assist  us  in  establishing  the  identity 
of  our  Number  Nineteen.  You  told  me  upstairs  that  you  had  never 
seen  him  before.  I  believe  you,  of  course,  and  yet,  1  can  not  rid 
myself  of  the  idea  that  this  man  knows  you.  His  eyes  brightened 
on  perceiving  you." 

*•  1  can  not  understand  why." 

"  It  is  very  possible  that  you  have  forgotten  him,  but  if  1  should 
repeat  to  you  what  he  said  to  me,  the  circumstances  of  your  meeting 
might  occur  to  you." 

"  1  think  not,"  murmured  Babiole,  firmly  resolved  to  be  silent. 
"  Still,  you  might  repeat  what  he  said—" 

'*  Gladly,  if  you  will  come  in." 

*' Where?" 

**  Into  our  guard-room.  If  1  should  be  seen  talking  with  you  on 
the  staircase,  it  might  excite  remark.  You  cannot  imagine  how  par- 
ticular they  are  here.  1  have  some  very  interesting  "things  to  tell 
you." 

**  Thank  you,  sir,  but — " 

'*  Oh,  you  need  not  be  afraid;  the  guard-room  is  no  trap  for  pretty 
girls,  and  you  will  not  be  alone  with  me.  Gimbert,  one  of  the  as- 
sistant surgeons,  is  there  now,  and  Mother  Colas,  our  matron,  who  is 


98  BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLIN"ER. 

making  us  some  coffee  on  our  stove.  So  come  in.  You  hare  never 
seen  anything  like  it.     It  is  really  a  very  curious  place." 

Babiole  hesitated.  She  was  dying  to  know  what  Marbeuf  had 
said  upstairs,  tor  she  had  seen  him  whispering  witn  Bosc  before 
he  threw  himself  on  the  bed;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  what  would 
these  young  men  think  of  her  if  she  accepted  the  invitation?  Still, 
she  was  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  them  after  all;  and  they  were  much 
less  formidable  ihan  the  old  scoundrel  whom  she  had  so  cleverly 
managed  to  elude  on  leaving  the  theater. 

'*  So  be  it,"  she  said,  finally,  '*  but  I  can  remain  only  an  instant. 
1  am  in  a  great  hurry." 

**  Five  minutes  only,  by  the  watch,  mademoiselle,*'  exclaimed 
Bosc,  standing  aside  to  let  her  pass. 

The  guard- room  w-as  a  square  apartment,  with  white- washed 
walls.  It  looked  out  into  an  inner  courl-yard,  and  was  very  scantily 
furnished.  An  iron  bedstead,  a  large*^  book-case  filled  with  old 
medical  journals;  a  copper  w^ater-tank  with  a  basin  of  the  same 
material,  fastened  to  the  wall;  a  long  list  of  patients'  names,  with 
the  numbers  of  their  beds,  placed  there  for  the  convenience  of  cer- 
tain specialists  who  wished  to  assist  at  the  autopsy  attei  the  death  of 
these  poor  wretches;  a  stove  upon  wiiich  an  old  woman  in  a  mob- 
cap  was  cooking  somelhing,  and  in  one  corner,  a  pine  table  upon 
which  a  red-haired  young  nian  was  leaning,  as  he  pored  over  some 
old  books. 

This  studious  personage  lifted  his  head,  glanced  at  Babiole  over 
his  spectacles,  and  then  resumed  his  reading. 

The  old  woman  made  a  grimace,  and,  began  to  poke  the  ashes  in 
the  hope  of  revivmg  a  nearly  exiinct  fire. 

**  Mademoiselle,"  said  Bosc,  pushing  forward  a  cane  seat  chair, 
**  excuse  me  for  not  offering  you  an  arm-chair,  but  tbe  department 
of  public  charities  neglects  to  provide  u><  with  very  luxurious  seats.'* 

**lt  is  not  necessary  to  apologize,  sir,"  replied  the  .young  girl. 
"  I  haven't  lime  to  sit  down,  and  1  can  listen  to  you  very  well  stand- 
ing. Will  3^ou  tell  me  what  that  unfortunate  young  man  said  about 
me  with  as  little  delay  as  possible?" 

"He  told  me  he  thought  he  had  met  you  on  a  staircase  near  a 
concierge's  room.  Possibly  he  has  visited  some  inmate  of  the  house 
in  w^hich  you  live?" 

"  1  think  not,"  murmured  Babiole. 

**  However  that  may  be,  we  can  at  least  try  the  experiment.  I 
will  repeat  what  he  said  to  Monsieur  Yalbregue  to-morrow,  and  if 
you  will  have  the  kindness  to  give  me  your  address,  1,  myself,  will 
bring  Number  Nineteen  to  your  house." 

Whether  the  young  gentleman  had  merely  seized  upon  this  pre- 
text to  call  upon  her,  or  whether  he  was  really  actuated  by  a  desire 
to  solvesuch  an  interesting  mystery  in  medical  science,  mattered  little 
to  Babiole.  She  was  resolved  that  he  should  not  come  to  the  house, 
and  that  Marbeut  should  not  be  identified  before  she  had  intoimed 
Andre  of  her  discovery  at  the  Neckcr  Hospital. 

So,  pretending  to  regard  the  proposal  as  a  mere  jest,  she  said: 

"You  are  joking,  of  course,  sir.  1  Jive  in  too  plain  a  way  to  re- 
ceive a  visit  from  a  celebrated  physician,  hence,  it  is  useless  for  lua. 
to  give  you  my  address.'* 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLINER.  99 

"  Why?    1  promise  you  that  I  will  Dot  abuse  your  kindness." 

*'  I  believe  you,  of  course:  but  I  give  my  address  to  no  one.  That 
ts  one  of  my  principles.  Besides,  such  a  vi»it  would  do  no  good 
whatever.  The  poor  fellow  has  only  dreamed  this,  and  such  an 
experiment  would  only  confuse  him  still  more.*' 

"  How  quickly  you  decide  the  question,  mademoiselle.  Monsieur 
Valbregue  is  a  physician  of  the  first  rank,  and  yet,  all  his  learning 
and  talent  have  availed  him  little  in  this  case.  Very  well,  since  you 
refuse  to  aid  us,  i  shall  report  to  him  to-morrow  mornmg,  and  he 
will  then  decide  what  it  is  best  to  do;  but  1  warn  you  that  he  will 
blame  mc  very  much  for  havinji;  allowed  you  to  depart." 

*'  You  would  not  detain  me  by  force,  I  am  sure?"  said  Babiole, 
approaching  the  door. 

"  No,  mademoiselle,  certainly  not,  but — " 

Bosc  did  not  finish  the  sentence.  It  was  cut  short  by  the  boister- 
ous entrance  of  Houssais,  who  pushed  open  the  door  with  such 
violence  as  to  nearly  overturn  Babiole,  who  recoiled  in  alarm. 

**  Have  a  care,  stupid!"  cried  Bosc. 

**  1  was  not  aware  that  j^ou  had  company,"  replied  the  intruder^ 
staring  at  Babiole,  "  but  don't  be  alarmed,  I  will  not  disturb  you 
loner." 

"Idiot!  don't  you  see  Gimbert  and  Mother  Colas?  There  is  no 
tete-d-tete here.     You  can  come  in." 

*'  No,  1  have  business.  One  word  only.  I  have  just  left  the 
laboratory.  What  do  you  think  the  powder  Valbregue  gave  me  to 
analyze  contains?" 

'*  1  am  not  particularly  anxious  to  know." 

*'  But  1  am  going  to  tell  you.  all  the  same.  Some  poorly  prepared 
bromide  and  stryclmme — j^es,  my  good  fellow,  strychnine,  four  mil- 
ligrammes to  the  powder — just  enough  to  poison  a  man  slowly  and 
almost  imperceptibly,  but  none  the  less  surely." 

*' The  deuce!  It  Valbregue's  patient  doesn't  change  his  phar- 
macist, he  won't  live  a  month. 

**  Nor  even  a  fortnight." 

*'  You  had  better  hasten  to  the  gentleman,  and  advise  him  to  stop 
taking  his  medicine  at  once." 

"  But  1  don't  know  either  his  name  or  address." 

**  That's  a  fact.  Valbregue  neglected  to  give  you  any  information 
in  regard  to  his  patient.  Go  and  tell  the  doctor  without  delay.  He 
will  be  very  grateful  to  you  for  warning  him." 

**  I  am  perfectly  willing  to  do  so,  but  the  question  is,  to  discover 
Wtiere  1  can  find  him.     He  is  never  at  home  on  Sundays." 

**  Still,  j^ou  had  better  try— and  If  you  don't  find  him,  leave  a 
message  for  him.  He  will  get  it  this  evening,  and  can  then  lalie  the 
necessary  steps  to  save  his  patient." 

*'  It  is  quite  time.  1  will  also  leave  him  the  rest  of  the  powder, 
80  he  can  have  it  analyzed  by  some  of  the  experts  in  the  detective 
service.  It  is  a  very  strange  affair,  and  the  druggist  who  put  up 
the  prescription  is  likely  to  have  a  pretty  uncomfortable  time  of  it. 
Still,  the  pounders  may  have  been  tampered  with,  after  they  left  his 
hands." 

**  That  is  quite  possible,  and  I  advise  vou  to  be  prudent.  Don't 
speak  of  the  matter  to  any  one  but  Valbregue,  and  above  all,  no 


100  BABIOLE,    THE    PEETTY    MILLINER. 

fotssip  here  in  the  ho^pilal.  Mademoiselle  henrd  what  you  said,  but 
am  sure  that  we  can  rely  upon  her  discretion." 

But  mademoiselle  was  already  gliding  out  through  the  open  door. 

*'  I  shall  ask.  your  uncle  tor  your  address,"  Bosc  called  after  her. 

Babiole  did  not  turn,  but  the  blow  had  told,  and  she  said  to  her- 
self: 

"  If  mj^  uncle  gives  it  to  him,  they  will  bring  Marbeuf  to  the 
house  to-morrow,  and  Heaven  only  knows  what  the  result  will  be! 
1  haven't  a  moment  to  lose  in  warning  Monsieur  Andre;  and  1  must 
hasten  to  Monsieur  Virnelle's  to  make  inquiries  about  him.  Heaven 
grant  that  the  bankei's  daughter  will  not  be  the  one  to  receive  me!" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

While  Babiole  was  talking  at  the  Necker  Hospital  with  Louis 
Marbeuf,  for  whom  Andre  Subligny  had  long  been  searching  in  vain, 
Clemence  Vernelle  was  weepingin  the  arms  of  her  father,  who  did 
not  even  try  to  console  her,  for  lie  knew  all,  and  had  ceased  to  hope. 

After  a  night  spent  in  cursiug  the  shameless  creature  who  bad  re- 
turned to  Paris  to  dishonor  his  name,  and  in  asking  himself  what 
measures  he  should  take  to  rid  his  daughter  of  the  presence  of  her  in- 
famous mother,  M.  Vernelle  received  an  early  call  from  Bertand,  who 
came  to  announce  the  financial  disaster  of  the  preceding  day. 

The  interview  had  been  a  stormy  one,  for  Bertand  audaciously  de- 
nied that  the  interests  of  the  man  to  whom  he  owed  all  had  been 
compromised  by  any  fault  of  his  — for  ten  yearh  before  the  banlier 
had  lifted  Bertand  out  of  abject  poverty.  The  scounaiel  even  had 
the  impudence  to  accuse  Vernelle  of  negligence.  He  denied  having 
received  any  order  to  sell;  he  denied  that  he  had  operated  on  his 
own  account,  and  that  he  had  abused  Vernelle's  confidence  and 
credit,  and  enriched  himself  at  that  gentleman's  expense.  In  short, 
he  denied  everjnhing,  and  his  victim  was  not  in  a -position  to  prove 
that  these  assertions  were  utterly  false. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  interview,  Bertand's  manner  became  so 
insolent  that  M.  Vernelle  was  obliged  to  show  him  the  door. 

But  this  well-merited  expulsion  could  not  avert  the  ruin  caused 
by  the  perfidious  speculator  and  friend.  It  was  complete.  Every- 
thing that  the  banker  possessed,  everything  that  the  failure  at 
Marseilles  had  lelt  him,  w^ould  scarcely  suffice  to  pay  his  indebted- 
ness at  the  end  of  the  ruonth,  and  barely  twenty  days  stood  between 
him  and  that  fatal  time. 

To  once  more  tempt  fortune  in  an  effort  to  retrieve  his  losses  was 
only  to  expose  himself  to  the  danger  of  becoming  involved  to  a 
frightful  extent,  and  to  risk  his  honor,  after  having  lost  his  money: 
and  the  banker  prized  his  honor  far  more  than  his  fortune. 

It  was  Sunday;  the  offices  were  closed,  and  Chautepie  had  not 
made  his  appearance,  so  V^ernelle  could  not  apprise  him  ot  the 
catastrophe  which  was  the  more  terrible  from  the  fact  that  it  was  so 
unexpected,  for  only  the  evening  before  Vernelle  had  informed  his 
cashier  of  the  decline  in  prices,  and  told  him  that  he  had  taken 
measures  accordingly^ 

Before    apprising    his  daughter  of    the    blow,  he    lesolved  to 


BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLINER.  101 

leave  no  means  untried  to  avert  the  impf^ndini^  ruin,  and  he  had  ap- 
pealed to  his  friends  in  banking  circles  tor  the  assistance  which  he 
had  not  refused  them  under  similar  circumstances.  But  people  are 
willing  to  loan  only  to  the  rich,  and  rumors  of  his  embarrassment 
were  alreadj^  rite  in  financial  circles,  so  he  had  received  only  com- 
monplace words  of  C(msolalion  and  r/)orc  or  less  polite  refusals. 

The  whole  morning  was  spent  in'^this;  ^ay,' and  Cler^L.'f?nc8;  after 
\/aiting  for  hun  more  than  an  houv,  w^is  obliged  to,  breai^fid'alone. 

Andre,  too,  had  failed  to  maka  hls^appear^pce,  thou.2;li  lie  was  in 
the  habit  of  callinc  every  Sunday  ^mpfnidg  t«>,*;reatJi^6  Ij'iSi'eiri^lcyer's 
instructions,  or  if  he  had  called,  lie  had'no^  dared  to  ask 'tb;so6''Mile. 
Vernelle  in  her  father's  absence. 

The  poor  child  was  in  despair,  though  she  as  yet  had  no  idea  of 
the  extent  of  her  misfortune. 

She  was  ten  years  old,  and  she  loved  her  mother  devotedly,  though 
her  mcfther  paid  very  little  attention  to  her,  when  her  father  one  day 
came  to  tell  her  that  her  mother  had  just  started  on  a  long  journey„ 
She  had  not  learned  the  sad  truth,  however,  until  long  afterward;  in 
tact,  not  until  she  left  boarding-school,  where  she  remained  until  she 
was  seventeen  years  of  age.  Then  M.  Vernelle  said  to  her  on  this 
sad  subject  all  that  a  young  girl  could  hear  without  shocking  her 
modesty. 

'•  Forget  her,  as  I  have  forgotten  her,"  were  the  concluding  words 
of  the  desolate  father. 

And  Clemence  had  tried  hard  to  obey  him,  but  she  had  not  suc- 
ceeded. Her  mother's  features  were  indelibly  impressed  on  her  mem- 
ory, and  though  she  never  spoke  of  her  for  fear  of  reviving  M.  Ver- 
nelle's  grief,  she  was  ever  thinking  of  her,  and  hoping  she  might 
someday  see  her  again  brought  repentant  to  her  husband's  feet 
by  the  power  of  maternal  love.  She  dreamed  of  reconciling  her 
parents,  and  troubling  herself  very  little  about  the  opinion  of  Parisian 
society,  she  sometimes  said  to  herself: 

*'  If  1  should  meet  her,  1  am  sure  I  should  recognize  her,  and  1 
certainly  could  not  help  throwing  my  arms  around  her  neck.'* 

She  had  not  foreseen  that  she  would  first  see  her  mother  parading 
ner  shame  in  an  opera-oox,  and  that  she  coulrt  think  only  of  fleeing 
from  the  sig)#t. 

This  cruel  ordeal  had  been  in  store  for  her,  however,  and  she  had 
submitted  to  it  courageously.  She  had  done  what  she  did  unhesitat- 
ingly, but  not  without  suffering,  for  the  wound  was  still  bleeding. 
And  this  cruel  blow  had  fallen  upon  hex  just  as  her  father  had  be- 
trothed her  to  the  man  she  loved. 

]S"or  do  misfortunes  ever  come  singly.  M.  Vernelle  returned  home 
about  two  o'clock,  and  told  her  the  resi.  Out  of  delicacy  he  re- 
frained from  speaking  of  her  mother,  but  he  explained  the  situation 
to  her  clearly.  He  did  not  conceal  from  her  the  fact  that  inevitable 
ruin  and  poverty  stared  them  in  the  face,  for  he  had  resolved  to  de- 
vote every  penny,  if  necessary,  to  the  payment  of  his  indebtedness. 

Here,  too,  Clemence  had  shown  no  sign  ot  weakness.  Instead  of 
complaining,  she  had  cordially  approved  his  plans,  and  declared  her- 
gelf  willing  to  maKe  any  sacrifice. 

A  life  devoid  of  luxury,  and  even  fraught  with  privations,  bad  no 


10)8  BABIOLE/  THE    PRETTY    MILLINER. 

terrors  tor  her;  and  ber  father,  seeing  her  so  brave  and  calm,  almost 
regained  courage. 

He  would  gladly  bave  shortened  this  painful  interview,  but  there 
was  one  point  which  must  be  settled  immediately. 

The  previous  evenmg,  only  a  moment  before  the  scandalous  en- 
tree ot  his  wite,  and  while  he  was  still  ignorant  of  the  final  result  of 
his  specula,tion  in\  sjtoblts;,'  Vepielle  had  promised  his  secretary  his 
dauglit^r(s  Jhand,  artd  Mife  two- young  people  had  plighted  their  troth 
under  his  very  ej^es  and  w;illirhi^  formal  approbation. 

Whatw^s  'i!\e5;yrc>,4i^e  ^i'ol'.th  riiOw?  Would  Andre  Subligny  still 
feeJJ(ncliiiqd.'t0.keepifcan*dm'arry  the  dowerless  daughter  ot  a  woman 
who  had  sunk  to  the  lowest  depths  of  degradation?  And  even  if  he 
felt  so  inclined,  was  it  not  the  banker's  duty  to  acquaint  him  with 
the  deplorable  tacts  without  delay,  and  release  him? 

Clemence  read  his  thoughts,  and  spared  him  the  pain  of  making 
this  announcement. 

•'  JVly  father,-'  she  said,  lirmlv,  "  we  will  do  our  duty  unto  the  end. 
You  will  give  up  all  your  property  to  your  creditors,  and  1,  though 
1  love  Andre  and  shall  always  love  him,  will  not  marry  him.  I 
know  him  well  enough  to  feel  sure  that  our  misfortunes  will  not 
change  his  feelings,  but  1  will  not  blight  his  future  by  allowing  him 
to  share  our  troubles." 

**  I  expected  no  less  of  you,"  replied M.  Vernelle,  deeply  touched'; 
**  and  since  you  are  so  heroic  in  your  self  abnegnation,  1  will  go  to 
Monsieur  Subligny  and  lell  him  that  this  marriage  is  no  longer  to  bo 
thought  ot.  1  will,  at  the  same  time,  advise  him  to  seek  another 
situation,  and  1  will  even  assist  him  in  procuring  one.  My  recom- 
mendation will  be  of  some  service,  and  with  the  business  talent  he 
possesses,  I  am  sure  he  will  make  his  way  in  some  house  more  tortu- 
nate  than  mine." 

**  And  he  will  marry  some  young  girl  less  deeply  disgraced  than 
myself.  I  have  but  one  favor  to  ask:  that  is,  to  be  allowed  to  see 
him  once  more.  1  do  not  wish  him  to  misunderstand  the  real  cause 
of  my  ret  usal.  He  will  think,  perhaps,  that  lam  acting  only  in 
obedience  to  an  order  from  you.  I  wish  to  tell  him  myself  that  it  is 
entirely  of  my  own  accord  that  I  renounce  the  happiness  of  being  his 
wife,  and  even  though  he  insists,  I  shall  have  strength  to  withstand 
his  entreaties." 

"  You  are  right,  my  child,  and  I  think  you  will  certainly  se^him 
to  day.  I  am  even  a  little  surprised  that  he  has  not  made  his  appear- 
ance before  this,  for  he  is  sincerely  devoted  to  me;  and  however  quiet 
the  life  he  leads  may  be,  it  seems  to  me  impossible  that  the  rumors 
which  are  in  circulation  about  me  should  not  have  reached  his  ears. 

•*  Besides, "  added  Yernelle,  after  somo  slight  hesitation,  "our 
abrupt  departure  last  evening  must  have  astonished  him,  and  he 
may  have  guessed  the  cause  ot  it.  I  had  no  intention  ot  concealing 
it  from  him,  however,  for  1  invited  him  to  call  on  me  this  morning 
lor  the  express  purpose  of  acquainting  him  with  all  the  tucts. 

*  He  may  have  called  unknown  to  us.  I  went  out  very  early  this 
morning,  and  on  my  return,  1  quite  forgot  to  ask  my  valet  if  any 
one  had  been  here.     Ring  the  bell,  it  you  please. 

''  Pierre  is  going  to  bring  you  a  cup  of  chocolate  that  I  ordered 
made  for  you,  for  1  was  sure'that  you  have  eaten  nothing  to-day." 


JBABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLINEE,  103 

Cl§mence  rano^,  and  Pierre  entered,  ^^ailer  in  hand. 

**  Has  Monsieur  ISubligny  been  here  this  morning?'*  inquired  the 
banker. 

"  les,  sir.  1  forget  to  tell  you,  sir.  Be  called  while  you  were 
engaged  with  Monsieur  Bertand,  and  he  said  he  would  not  intrude 
then." 

"  Did  he  say  that  he  would  call  again?" 

*'  Ves,  sir;  and  even  now  there  is  some  one  in  the  antechamber 
asliing  tor  him." 
"  Who  is  it?" 

"  A  young  lady,  sir,"  replied  the  footman,  dubiously. 

Clemence  glanced  up  hastily,  and  M.  Vernelle  said,  frowningly: 
*'  You  must  have  made  a  mistake,  or  else  she  has." 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,  but  it  is  certainly  Monsieur  Subligny  whom  this 
person  wishes  to  see,  upon  very  urgent  business,  she  pretends.  1  told 
her  that  he  was  not  here  just  now.  Then  she  wanted  to  know  where 
he  lived;  but  1  did  not  feel  at  liberty  to  give  her  his  address  without 
your  permission,  so  I  merely  told  her  that  Monsieur  Subligny  might 
come  in  at  any  moment,  and  advised  her  to  wait  for  him  at  the 
street-door.  Monsieur  rang  while  1  was  talking  with  her,  so  I  left 
her  in  the  antechamber ;  but  if  she  is  not  gone  1  will  send  her  away 
at  once." 

"No,  no,"  interposed  Mile.  Vernelle,  quickly.  **  1  want  to  sea 
her.     Tell  her  that  Monsieur  Subligny  is  here,  and  bring  her  in." 

Pierre  bowed,  and  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

"  What  a  strange  idea!"  exclaimed  the  banker.  **  Why  are  you 
so  anxious  to  see  this  young  woman?" 

*'  To  find  out  it  she  is  not  the  same  person  who  smiled  at  Andre  at 
the  Opera  Comique,  last  evening?" 

"  Can  it  be  that  you  are  jealous ot him?"  asked  M.  Vernelle,  sadly. 

*•  And  what  it  1  am?"  retorted  Clemence,  almost  sullenly. 

She  was  very  pale,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  dangerously.  She  was 
DO  longer  a  girl  resigned  to  sacrificing  her  happiness  to  the  terrible 
exigencies  of  the  situation,  but  a  woman  who  loved  and  who  wished 
to  be  loved  in  return,  entirely  and  without  reserve. 

**  You  no  longer  have  any  right  to  be, "  replied  M.  Vernelle.  "  He 
will  never  be  your  husband.     He  is  free,  consequently." 

"  He  was  not  free  yesterday.  I  want  to  know  it  he  was  deceiving 
me." 

*'  And  you  are  going  to  insist  upon  an  explanation  with  a  person 
you  do  not  know,  and  perhaps  with  a  woman  of  doubtful  character. 
The  idea  is  absurd,  and  I  will  not  allow  it.  I  must  go  first  ana  see 
who  she  is." 

The  banker  was  about  to  rise  when  the  door  opened  and  Babiole 
appeared. 

'*  It  is  she  I"  murmured  Clemence. 

Babiole  had  paused  upon  the  threshold,  and  seemed  to  be  con- 
templating a  retreat,  but  the  footman  pushed  her  gently  forward. 

"  Come  in,  mademoiselle,"  said  M.  Vernelle. 

'*  Pardon  me,  sir,"  she  said,  in  evident  embarrassment,  *'  I  asked 
1o  see  Monsieur  Subligny.     The  servant  assured  me  he  was  here.'' 

*•  I  am  expecting  him  every  moment.  What  do  you  desire  ol 
him?" 


104  BABIOLE,   THE    PBETTY    MILLIKER, 

*'  1  wish  to  speak  with  him.'* 

"  What  have  you  to  say  to  him?" 

**  Several  things  that  interest  him —him  alone,  sir.  1  regret  hay- 
ing disturbed  you,  and  1  will  go — " 

**  Remain,  1  beg,  mademoiselle,"  interrupted  the  banker.     ' 

He  knew  Paris,  and  his  long  experience  in  business  life  had  made 
him  a  clever  physiognomist;  consequently,  he  had  only  to  glance  at 
this  girl  of  sixteen  to  read  her  true  character. 

Babiole  was  clad  like  an  honest  working  girl,  and  her  charming 
face  wore  an  expression  which  was  almost  equivalent  to  a  certificate 
of  good  character. 

Clemence,  too,  in  her  secret  heart,  did  the  girl  justice,  and  was 
ashamed  of  her  former  suspicions;  but  she  was  none  the  less  anx- 
ious to  hear  the  explanation. 

"If  the  matter  is  of  grave  importance  you  can  confide  it  to  me," 
replied  JVl.  Vernelle.  **  Monsieur  Subligny  is  my  secretary,  but  he 
is  also  my  friend,  and  my  daughter's  presence  need  not  prevent  you 
from  speaking." 

*  *  Tou  are  very  kind,  sir,  but  1  fear  it  would  not  be  best,  and  if 
you  will  kindly  give  me  Monsieur  Subligny 's  address — " 

**  What!  don't  you  know  w^here  he  lives?" 

*'No,  sir.  My  acquaintance  with  him  is  very  slight.  1  have 
spoken  to  him  only  three  times,  at  the  most." 

**  But  he  lived  in  the  same  house  with  you,"  murmured  Clemence. 

*'  Did  he  tell  you  so?"  exclaimed  Babiole. 

**  Yes,  mademoiselle.  He  told  me  so  last  evening  at  ihe  opera, 
where  you  occupied  a  seat  nearly  opposite  us.  You  saw  us,  1  sup- 
pose?" 

'*  Yes,  mademoiselle;  but  you  did  not  remain  until  the  end  of  the 
performance,  and  1  met  Monsieur  Subligny  on  leaving  the  theater. 
It  was  then  that  1  spoke  to  him  for  the  third  time." 

**  Then  how  does  it  happen  that  you  are  ignorant  of  his  address?" 

**  1  did  not  think  to  ask  him  for  it.  He  only  told  me  that  he  was 
employed  in  a  banking-house." 

**  And  you  quite  forgot  to  take  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to 
speak  to  him  about  the  important  matter  that  brings  j^ou  here?" 

This  was  said  in  a  dry  tone  that  greatly  disconcerted  poor  Babi- 
ole.    Her  eyes  fell,  and  blushing  to  her  very  ears,  she  stammered : 

"  Yesterday  1  did  not  know  what  I  know  now." 

*' What  is  it  you  know?" 

Babiole  drew  herself  up  haughtily.  She  was  not  inclined  to  an- 
swer the  questions  of  a  person  who  had  no  right  to  question  her, 
and  she  was  probably  about  to  make  a  rather  impertinent  reply, 
when  M.  Vernelle  hastily  interposed.  He  saw  the  danger,  and  not 
wishing  this  rather  singular  interview  to  degenerate  into  a  feminine 
quarrel,  he  said  gently: 

**  Mademoisp-lie,  no  one  here  has  any  intention  of  wounding  you, 
and  1  don't  doubt  that  you  have  news  of  an  important  and  urgent 
character  for  Monsieur  Subligny.  He  resides  only  a  few  steps  from 
here,  but  you  would  not  find"  him  at  home,  and  he  will  certainly  be 
here  to-day.  He  may  arrive  at  any  moment.  Will  you  not  sit 
down  and  wait  until  he  comes?" 

"1  thank  you,  sir,  but  1  should  be  very  sorry  to  intrude  upou 


BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLI]5^ER.  105 

you  any  longer.  It  will  be  quite  enough  for  Monsieur  Subligny  to 
know  that  1  would  like  to  see  him  as  soon  as  possible,  tor  1  am  sure 
that  he  will  have  the  goodness  to  call  on  Mie,  especially  it  you  will 
do  me  the  tavor  to  add  that  it  is  in  relation  to  his  friend.  Monsieur 
Marbeuf,  that  I  w^ish  to  speak  to  him.** 

*'  Tlie  young  gentleman  whose  rooms  he  shared  on  his  arrival  in 
Paris?"  inquired  Clemence,  alrtadv  greatly  mollified. 

'*  Yes,  mademoiselle.  Monsieur  Sublignj'-  remained  there  only 
twenty-four  hours,  but  it  was  then  that  1  made  his  acquaintance, 
tor  Monsieur  Marbeuf  was  my  neighbor.** 

"  But  that  gentleman  has  gone  away — has  left  Paris,  1  believe^?" 

*'  1  thought  so;  but  he  is  still  in  the  city.'* 

*'  Monsieur  Subligny  assured  me  to  the  contrary.** 

**  Monsieur  Subligny  w^as  mistaken.  It  is  to  tell  hira  where  his 
friend  is,  that  1  am  so  anxious  to  see  him.'* 

*'  Then  remain,  mademoiselle,"  exclaimed  Clemence,  **  remain,  1 
beg  of  you." 

The  two  young  girls  exchanged  glances,  and  a  treaty  of  peace  was 
instantly  concluded.  This  compact  was  eminently  satisfactory  to 
Babiole,  for  she  was  not  yet  conscious  of  the  nature  of  the  sentiments 
Andre  had  inspired  in  her  heart;  still  less,  did  she  cherish  any  hope 
of  marrying  him,  so  without  a  word,  she  accepted  the  chair  which 
M.  Vernelle  placed  for  her  between  his  daughter  and  himself. 

She  accepted  it  with  very  good  grace,  and  now  seemed  to  be  wait- 
ing for  some  one  to  question  her. 

"  This  is  Sunday,'*  the  banker  remarked,  **  a  holiday  for  all  my 
employes,  and  even  for  Subligny,  who  is  my  secretary.  But  for 
that—" 

*•  Oh,  1  did  not  expect  to  find  him  here,"  interrupted  Babiole; 
**  but  1  thought  I  might  ascertain  his  address.  It  was  only  by  chance 
that  1  learned  he  was  emploj^ed  in  your  banking  house,  sir:  for  he 
did  not  tell  me  your  name.  But  my  uncle,  who  is  a  collection  clerk, 
informed  me  that  Monsieur  Cbautepie  w^as  your  cashier—" 

*'  What!  do  you  know  Chautepie,  too?"  inquired  M.  Yernelle, 
greatly  astonished. 

**  1  saw  him  years  ago,  when  1  was  but  a  child;  but  1  have  good 
^ause  to  remember  him;  and  as  Monsieur  Subligny  told  me  he  was 
employed  in  the  same  house  with  this  —  this  man,  1  looked  in  the 
directory,  found  out  where  you  lived,  and  came  here  without  losing 
a  moment." 

*'*  Is  the  matter  so  very  urgent?" 

**  1  think  so.  Monsieur  Subligny  must  be  greatly  interested  in  as- 
certaining the  whereabouts  of  his  missing  friend." 

*'  His  missing  friend,  did  you  say?" 

"  Y"es,  sir.  On  the  evening  following  the  day  on  which  Monsieur 
Subligny  arrived  at  hi3  friend's  house,  Monsieur  Marbeuf  did  not 
return  home.  That  was  more  than  a  month  ago,  and  no  one  has 
heard  anything  about  hini  since  that  time.  Our  concierge  thinks  he 
must  be  dead,  and  his  furniture  is  about  to  be  sold." 

"  It  will  not  be,  now  that  you  nave  discovered  the  missing  man. 
But  where  is  this  young  man,  for  he  must  be  young,  as  he  was  at 
college  with  Subligny,  who  is  scarcely  twenty-six." 

•*  Pardon  me>  sir,  but  I  would  rather  not  teU  you  where  he  is/' 


106  BABIOLE^   THE    PRETTY    MILLIKEB. 

*Andwby?*' 

**  Because  it  is  a  secret  tliat  does  not  belong  to  me.  Monsieur 
Subligny  will  tell  you,  1  am  sure;  but  1  would  rather  reveal  my 
discovery  to  him  alone." 

**  As  you  please,  mademoiselle.  He  will  be  at  liberty  to  keep  the 
secret,  if  he  likes,  for  1  shall  not  demand  it  of  him.  But  it  seems  to 
me  that  you  have  a  rather  poor  opinion  of  my  cashier,"  said  M. 
Vernelle,  smiling.  *'  May  1  ask  what  he  has  done?  Is  that,  too,  a 
secret?" 

*'  No,  sir;  but  1  did  not  come  here  to  complain  of  Monsieur  Chau- 
tepie.     1  have  no  desire  to  denounce  him." 

*•  1  approve  your  feelings,  mademoiselle.  Denouncing  a  person  is 
cowardly  when  the  information  is  given  from  interested  motives, 
and  that  is  almost  always  the  case.  Still,  there  are  times  when  one 
is  only  fulfilling  a  duty  in  unveiling  a  man's  past.  If  1  have  in- 
trusted my  safe  to  Monsieur  Chautepie's  keeping,  it  is  only  because 
1  have  no  reason  to  doubt  his  integrity;  consequently,  you  would 
do  me  a  sreat  service  by  enlightening  me  in  regard  to  his  antece- 
dents, with  which  1  am  but  slightly  acquainted.  1  took  nim  into 
ray  employ  ten  years  ago,  because  he  was  recommended  to  me  by 
by  a  person  in  whom  1  then  felt  implicit  confidence." 

**  Ten  years  ago  he  hnd  just  ruined  my  father!"  exclaimed  Babi- 
ole,  impelled  by  a  feeling  of  indignation  which  she  could  not  repress. 

•'  What  is  that  you  say?" 

*'  It  is  only  the  truth,  sir.  My  father  had  accumulated  a  modest 
fortune  in  business.  He  was  foolish  enough  to  intrust  it  to  this 
Chautepie,  who  promised  to  invest  it  to  advantage  at  the  Bourse." 

*'  It  may  have  been  in  perfect  good  faith  that  he  advised  your  fa- 
ther, after  all.  The  cleverest  and  the  best-meaning  people  are  some- 
times deceived." 

"My  father  had  proofs  that  his  orders  were  not  executed,  and 
that  the  money  he  lost  enriched  Monsieur  Chautepie;  but,  unfortu- 
nately, they  were  proofs  which,  though  perfectly  satisfactory  to  him, 
would  not  have  been  admitted  in  a  court  of  justice,  so  he  engaged 
in  no  lawsuit.     He  preferred  to  die." 

"  "What!"  exclaimed  Clemence,  "  is  it  possible  that  he — " 

**  Yes,  mademoiselle,  and  my  mother  died  of  grief.  1  am  an  or- 
phan, and  I  earn  my  living  by  working  in  a  millinery  shop." 

Mile.  Vernelle,  moved  to  tears,  stretched  out  her  hand  to  iJabiole, 
,  w^ho  dared  not  take  it. 

M.  Vernelle,  recollecting  the  disaster  which  had  just  befallen 
him  by  reason  of  Bertand's  treachery,  began  to  wonder  if  this 
wretch  had  not  conspired  with  Chautepie  to  defraud  him.  But  he 
deemed  it  his  duty  to  keep  this  suspicion  to  himself,  so  he  endeav- 
ored to  change  the  subject. 

*'  1  am  dying  of  hunger,"  he  remarked  abruptly.  **  Permit  me  to 
drink  this  chocolate,  mademoiselle;  but  first  give  me  my  powder, 
Clemence." 

"  You  forget  that  Monsieur  Valbregue  ordered  you  to  stop  taking 
it,  yesterday." 

'*  Until  to-morrow,"  he  said,  **  and  it  is  now  to-morrow,  so  give 
me  one." 

Cltoence  handisd  him  a  powder— she  was  in  the  habit  of  keep- 


BABIOLE,   THE    PEETTY    MILLIKER.  lO"? 

ing  some  constantly  in  her  pocket— and  her  father  was  about  to 
empty  it  into  a  glass  ot  water  that  the  footman  had  brought  in  with 
the  chocolate,  when  Babiole  interfered. 

**  Stop,  sir!"  she  cried. 

M.  Vernelle  turned  and  looked  at  her  as  if  asking  himself  if  she 
were  nut  going  mad.  She  had  turned  suddenly  pale,  and  had  half 
risen  from  her  chair,  at  the  same  time  making  a  movement  as  if  to 
seize  him  by  the  arm. 
>  '*  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  mademoiselle?"  he  exclaimed,  in 
astonishment. 

**  That  powder  I"  murmured  the  young  girl. 

*•  Ah,  well,  that  powder  is  a  remedy  prescribed  by  my  physician.'* 

**  And  your  physician's  name  is  Valbregue,  is  il  not?" 

*'  Yes,  mademoiselle;  and  the  medicine  is  bromide." 

'*  It  is  poison  I"  exclaimed  Babiole. 

**  Poison  I    Do  you  think  my  daughter  would  poison  me?" 

•'  No,  certainly  not;  but  I  am  sure  of  what  1  say,  and  1  beseech 
you  not  to  take  this  drug." 

Clemence  said  nothing,  but  she  snatched  the  powder  from  her 
father's  hands. 

**  Explain,  mademoiselle,  if  you  please,"  said  the  banker.  **  How 
can  you  know?" 

**  Did  not  your  physician  announce  his  intention  of  having  this 
medicine  analyzed?" 

**  Yes,  and  he  took  away  one  of  the  powders  for  that  purpose, 
but—" 

**  And  does  not  this  doctor  have  charge  of  one  of  the  hospitals?" 

**  Of  the  Necker  Hospital,  yes." 

*'  Then  you  are  certainly  the  person  they  were  talking  about,  just 

DOW." 

**  Where?" 

*'  At  the  Necker.  How  fortunate  that  Monsieur  Subligny  did  not 
tell  me  where  he  lived  yesterda.y." 

'*  Why  do  you  consider  it  so  fortunate?" 

**  Because,  if  1  had  known  his  address,  1  should  have  gone  straight 
to  his  house  to  tell  him  about  the  friend  that  1  just  saw—" 

"  At  the  hospital?  And  it  was  there,  too,  1  suppose,  that  1  was 
the  subject  ot  conversation.  1  assure  you,  mademoiselle,  that  1 
haven't  the  slightest  idea  what  you  mean.  Will  you  kindly  explain 
more  clearly?  You  are  congratulating  yourself,  if  1  am  not  very 
much  mistaken,  upon  having  warned  me  that  this  powder  contains 
a  poisonous  ingredient." 

**  1  congratulate  myself  above  all  upon  having  arrived  here  in  time 
to  save  your  life." 

**  And  1  am  very  grateful  to  you  for  having  saved  me,  if  there 
was  any  real  danger.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  you  have  given  me  to 
undersiand  that  you  came  here  for  the  sole  purpose  of  meeting  my 
secretary,  and  thai  if  you  had  not  been  so  anxious  to  see  him  you 
would  have  allowed  me  to  be  poisoned.  In  that  case  it  is  to  Subligny 
that  1  am  indebted  for  my  preservation.     What  am  1  to  believe 9" 

*'  ]f  you  will  kindly  listen  to  me,  sir,  you  will  see  that  I  have  no 
cause  for  self-reproach.  1  had  just  ypent  two  hours  by  the  bedside 
of  my  uncle,  who  is  sick  in  the  Saint  Ferdinand  ward  of  the  Necker 


108  BABIOLE,   THE    PKETTY   MILLINEB. 

Hospital,  and  1  was  about  to  leave  the  institution  when  1  was 
stopped  on  the  staircase  by  one  of  the  officers  of  tbe  iostitution. 
While  we  were  talking  about  my  uncle's  attack  of  bronchitis,  an- 
other official,  the  chemist,  came  up,  and  told  his  comrade  that  Dr. 
Valbregue— I  recollect  the  name  perfectly— had  left  with  him  that 
morning,  for  analysis,  a  bromide  powder,  which  he  had  prescribed 
for  one  of  his  patients,  but  which  did  not  seem  to  agree  with  him. 
The  new-comer  added  that  he  had  analyzed  it,  ana  satisfied  himself 
of  the  presence  of  strychnine  in  the  compound.*' 

* 'Strychnine!" 

**  Yes,  strychnine,  which  must  be  the  most  violent  of  poisons, 
judging  from  what  they  said,  for  the  other  young  man  remarked: 
'  If  Valbregue's  patient  continues  to  follow  this  treatment,  he  has  not 
much  longer  to  live.'  " 

*'  And  these  gentlemen  allowed  the  matter  to  drop  there?  Why 
did  not  the  idea  of  hastening  to  infomi  me  of  the  fact  occur  to 
themv" 

**  Your  physician  had  not  told  them  his  patient's  name,  and  as  I 
knew  no  more  about  it  than  they  did,  1  could  not  come  here  and  tell 
you.  One  of  them  started  off  in  search  of  Monsieur  Valbiegue,  how- 
everf  but  he  had  very  little  hope  of  finding  him.  You  see,  sir,  that 
1  have  good  reason  to  rejoice  at  my  Ignorance  of  Monsieur  Subligny'* 
address." 

The  father  and  daughter  exchanged  glances. 

**  We  shall  never  forget  what  you  have  done,  mademoiselle,"  said 
M.  Vernelle,  with  deep  emotion.  *'  If  we  can  be  of  service  to  you  ia 
any  way,  do  not  hesitate  to  make  use  of  us." 

*'l  ask  for  nothing  but  to  see  Monsieur  Subligny,"  Babiole  re- 
plied, quietly. 

'*  You  will  see  him  very  soon.  He  cannot  delay  much  longer; 
and  if  he  does  not  come,  I  will  find  him  and  send  him  to  your  house. " 

*  He  will  come,  1  am  almost  sure,"  murmured  Clemence. 

**  So  1  have  an  enemy  who  desires  my  life,"  said  the  banker,  talk- 
ing to  himself,  *'  for  there  can  be  no  mistake.  But  who  can  the 
wretch  be?" 

"  This  powder  was  prepared  by  a  druggist  Monsieur  Chautepie 
recommended  to  you,"  interrupted  Mile.  Vernelle.  *' It  was  Mon- 
sieur Chautepie  who  received  the  last  package  sent,  and  it  was  he 
who  gave  the  powders  to  your  valet." 

**  Chautepie! — he — no,  that  is  impossible!" 
^      **  The  man  who  was  the  cause  of  my  father's  death  is  capable  of 
any  crime,"  exclaimed  Babiole. 

Just  then,  Pierre  came  in,  and  said  a  few  words  to  his  employer 
in  subdued  tones. 

Pierre  was  intelligent  and  discreet,  so  he  had  gained  a  tolerably 
correct  idea  of  the  situation,  and  nothing  could  have  induced  him  to 
usher  Andre  Subligny  into  the  little  salon  without  first  consulting 
M.  V^ernelle. 

The  banker  instantly  rose.  Ba'biole  did  the  same,  but  he  made 
her  reseat  herself,  and  said  to  her,  in  a  really  affectionate  tone: 

**  Mademoiselle,  both  my  daughter  and  myself  beg  you  to  remain  a 
while  longer.  1  must  leave  yoif  to  see  some  one;  but  1  hope  to  find 
you  here  on  my  return.     You  will  not  regret  having  waited  for  me, 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLIKTER.  109 

I  assure  you,  and  Clemence  will  keep  you  company  until  my  re 
turn." 

Mile.  Vernelle  did  not  say  nay;  on  the  contrary,  she  held  out  her 
hand  to  Babiole,  and  this  time  Bubiole  did  not  retiise  hers. 

The  banker  thankea  Clemence  with  a  2:]ance,  and  went  out,  leav- 
ing the  two  girls  alone  together.  He  knew,  notv,  that  they  were 
kindly  disposed  toward  each  other;  and  he  was  in  a  hurry  to  have 
an  explanation  with  Andre,  who  was  awaiting  him  in  his  office. 

"  Thank  you  tor  having  come,  my  friend,"  he  said  to  him,  on 
entering.  "  1  see  by  your  face  that  you  have  heard  the  bad  news. 
You  do  not  desert  nie  in  adversity.  That  is  kind,  very  kind  in  you. " 

**  Desert  you!"  exclaimed  Subligny.  "Ah,  sn,  1  hope  that  you 
did  not  think  me  capable  of  such  baseness." 

*  No,  my  friend,  but  1  was  impatient  to  see  you.  1  have  so  many 
things  to  tell  j'ou!  1  will  begin  with  a  subject  that  interests  j'^ou  ex- 
clusively, for  1  am  not  acquainted  with  the  young  man — the  one 
whose  hospitality  you  accepted  on  your  arrival  in  Paris — Monsieur 
Marbeut,  1  believe." 

*'  Yes,  sir.     Well,  what  of  him?" 

**  He  has  been  found." 

Andre  turned  pale.  Anything  in  any  way  connected  with  the  un- 
fortunate history  of  the  bank-notes  always  agitated  him  deeply,  and 
the  thought  that  Marbeuf  had  perhaps  told  M.  Yernelle  all,  fUled 
him  with  alarm. 

**  Are  you  not  pleased  to  learn  that  he  is  still  in  Paris?"  inquired 
the  banker. 

**  Certainly,  sir.  1  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  him  again.  But  the 
news  was  so  unexpected  that  it  quite  took  away  my  breath.  If  you 
will  have  the  goodness  to  tell  me  where  he  is—" 

*'  1  cannot  do  that,  but  there  is  a  person  here  who  can." 

**  VYho?" 

**  Y^ou  will  see  her  in  a  moment;  but  first  let  us  speak  of  my  own 
situation,  and  of  yours.  I  may  as  well  tell  you  first  as  last,  that  I 
am  utterly  ruined." 

"  I  have  been  aware  of  that  tact  ever  since  last  evening.  After 
your  depaiture  from  the  theater,  I  met  Monsieur  Bertand  in  the 
foye?\  and  he  told  me  that  your  order  to  sell  had  not  been  executed. 
He  even  had  the  audacity  to  assure  me  that  he  had  not  received  any 
such  instructions.  I  will  not  conceal  from  you,  sir,  that  I  treated 
him  as  he  deserved  to  be  treated,  for  1  am  sure  that  he  was  lying. 
He  is  a  treacherous  scoundrel.  1  have  proofs  of  that,  for  1  received 
through  the  telephone  a  message  that  was  not  intended  for  you — a 
message  in  which  he  announced  that  he  had  just  returned  from  the 
Bourse,  where  he  had  made  a  large  amount  of  uioney." 

**  This  announcement  was  intended  for  my  cashier,  I  suppose?" 

**  Yes,  sir.  You  may  recollect  that  1  mentioned  this  incident  last 
evening  at  the  opera;  but  I  attached  very  little  importance  to  it,  as 
1  did  not  know  that  Bertand  had  left  you  out  of  the  operation." 

**  1  had  a  long  talk  with  him  this  morning,  my  dear  Andre,  and  I 
think,  with  you,  that  he  has  betrayed  ray  confidence;  but  I  cannot 
prove  that  he  has  acted  with  fraudulent  intent.  It  is  useless,  there- 
fore, to  make  any  accusation  against  him;  and  1  can  only  submit  to 
the  consequences  of  a  mistake  which  was  undoubtedly  intentional. 


110  BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLIKER7 

1  hope  and  believe  that  I  shall  be  able  to  meet  all  my  obligations, 
but  my  house  will  disappear.  Indeed,  1  shall  deem  myself  lortu- 
nate  it  my  daughter  and  myselt  have  enough  left  to  liveupon,  after 
all  my  debts  are  paid." 

**  You  will  rise  again,  sir.     I  will  work  diligently — '* 

**  Do  not  confound  your  situation  with  mine,  my  friend.  The 
misfortune  that  has  overtaken  me  does  not  involve  you.  You  will 
lose  a  modest  position  by  it,  but  I  will  assist  you  in  finding  a  better 
one." 

**  What  do  you  say,  sir?  Can  you  suppose  that  1  would  leave 
you?    Am  1  not  a  member  ot  your  family?" 

"  You  were  to  become  my  son-in-law,  but  you  cannot  marry 
Olemence  now,  tor  she  has  nothing.  She  understands  that  as  well 
as  1  do,  and  she  has  empowered  me  to  release  you  from  your  engage- 
ment. ' 

"  1  refuse  to  be  released,  and  1  ask  yon,  in  pity,  to  grant  me  an 
interview  with  Mademoiselle  Yernelle,  in  order  that  1  may  tell  her, 
in  your  presence,  that  my  wishes  have  not  changed.  If  I  dared,  I 
would  add  that  the  only  thing  that  could  console  me  for  the  disaster 
which  has  swept  away  your  fortune,  is  that  no  one  can  now  accuse 
me  of  having  married  from  mercenary  motives." 

*'  Your  words  do  you  honor,  my  dear  Andre,  and  show  me  that  1 
have  judged  you  ri*z:htly.  i  ou  are  the  best  and  most  honorable  of 
men;  but  1  cannot  accept  such  a  sacrifice  on  your  part,  nor  can  my 
daughter." 

*'  Then  she  does  not  love  me!  If  she  did,  she  would  not  hesitate. 
Do  1?" 

**  You  are  mistaken,  my  friend;  her  heart  has  not  changed;  and 
if  my  ruin  was  the  only  obstacle,  1  should  perhaps  advise  her  to 
marry  you  as  you  are  generous  enough  not  to  wish  to  be  released. 
But  you  do  not  know  ail.     You  do  iiot  know  her  mother." 

**  1  saw  her  last  evening  at  the  theater.  A  certam  person  took 
good  care  to  point  her  out  to  me." 

Vernelle  started  violently. 

**  Then  you  know  why  I  left  so  abruptly,"  he  said,  in  an  unsteady 
voice,  **  and  you  can  understand  what  Clemence  must  have  suffered. " 

**  1  know  all,"  replied  Andre.     **  Monsieur  Bertand  told  me." 

'*  He!  1  might  have  known  it.  It  was  not  enough  for  him  to  ruin 
me.  He  must  needs  drag  my  name  through  the  miie,  for  what  he 
told  you  he  will  tell  to  others.  1  must  be  the  laughing-stock  of  all 
Paris,  by  this  time.  Ah!  if  I  had  only  myself  to  think  of,  1  would 
kill  that  woman  and  her  loreis.  But  1  must  remember  my  daugh- 
ter. What  would  become  of  her?  We  have  but  one  resource  left: 
that  is,  to  exile  ourselves,  and  bury  our  shame  in  some  far-distant 
land." 

**  If  you  exile  yourselves,  1  shall  go  with  you.  But  why  should 
you  go?    It  is  the  guilty  one  who  should  go." 

**  You  do  not  know  her!  She  returned  here  expressly  to  defy  me. 
She  loves  to  cause  us  all  the  suffering  she  possibly  can,  1  sometimes 
think." 

'*  She  must  be  a  monster,  then." 

*'  No,  not  a  monster.  She  seems  to  have  no  idea  of  the  atrocity 
of  her  acts.    She  commits  crimes  as  a  pear-tree  produces  pears,  ^h, 


BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLINER.  Ill 

urrer  feels  the  slightest  twinge  of  remorse.     You  do  not  know  the 
histoiy  ot  my  marriage." 

"  1  was  ignorant,  until  yesterday,  that  you  had  a  wife.  My  father, 
who  so  often  spoke  ot  you,  always  led  me  to  suppose  that  you  were 
a  widower." 

"  1  am  grateful  to  him  for  his  delicacy,  especially  as  there  was  no 
person  better  acquainted  with  the  melancholy  history  of  my  married 
lite  than  himself.  He  was  an  intimate  friend  ot  my  wife's  family 
beioie  1  married  her,  and  afterward  he  lived  on  the  most  intimate 
possible  terms  with  iis.  When  the  scandal  came  out,  about  ten 
years  ago,  he  was  living  in  Havre,  but  he  always  paid  us  a  visit 
when  he  came  to  Paris." 

*'  1  was  then  at  college." 

**  Fes,  and  he  never  brought  you  to  our  house,  though  ^  often 
begged  him  to  do  so.  1  have  thought  since,  that  he  was  perhaps 
aware  of  what  was  going  on  in  my  household,  and  that  he  did  not 
wish  to  introduce  his  son  to  a  woman  who  was  so  basely  deceiving 
nie." 

*•  Nor  do  1  think  that  he  ever  spoke  of  her  to  my  mother.  Had 
he  done  so,  she  would  probably  have  given  me  some  intimation  ot  the 
truth,  when  she  gave  me  the  letter  recommending  ?Tie  to  you." 

"  It  was  kind  in  him  not  to  tell  an  honest  woman  of  my  disgrace. 
But  1  must  finish  my  story.  My  wife  was  an  orphan;  she  had  just 
left  the  convent,  when  1  met  her;  she  was  rich,  and  her  parents  were 
of  noble  birth.     Her  name  was  Yolande  de  Bacqueville." 

*'  An  old  Norman  name." 

"  Yes,  her  ancestors  were  knights  in  the  reign  of  William  the 
Conqueror.  Mine  tilled  the  soil;  my  grandfather  sold  handker- 
chiefs at  fairs,  and  mj'^  father  kept  a  country  inn.  I  was  just  begin- 
ning to  accumulate  a  fortune,  and  I  felt  greatly  honored  that  her 
guardian,  an  old  and  impoverished  nobleman,  should  condescend  to 
grant  me  her  hand.  1  had  met  her  at  Dieppe,  and  had  fallen  des- 
perately in  love  with  her.  I  would  gladly  have  married  her,  even 
if  she  had  been  poor.  As  it  was,  I  insisted  that  she  should  marry 
under  the  dotal  regime,  and  the  three  hundred  thousand  trancs  she 
possessed  have  never  been  invested  in  my  business.  IShe  always 
had  the  entire  disposal  of  the  money,  and  it  was  still  in  her  posses- 
sion when  she  left  me. 

**  The  first  years  of  our  married  life  were  happy  ones.  1  worked 
untiringly.  1  wanted  to  make  her  the  wife  of  a  millionaire,  and  I 
seemed  to  be  in  a  fair  way  to  accomplish  it.  We  went  but  little 
into  society,  though  she  was  very  fond  of  it.  We  entertained  only 
a  few  friends— your  father  was  one  of  the  number— and  yet  this 
retired  lite  seemed  to  satisfy  my  wife. 

*'  But  the  fire  was  smoldering  below.  Clemence  was  born — and 
would  you  believe  it? — her  mother's  excesses  began  only  a  year  after- 
ward. I,  alone,  was  ignorant  of  them.  My  friends  stopped  visiting 
the  house.  Your  father's  visits  to  Paris  becarce  more  and  moie 
rare.  Yolande  had  a  lover.  She  had  two,  three,  a  dozen  of  them, 
and  1  remained  blind  until  the  day  wiren,  infatuated  with  a  fashion- 
able tenor  singei,  she  tied  with  him  without  leaviEg  iL.e  a  letter  of 
farewell,  or  kissing  the  daughter  she  had  never  loved.  She  went 
out  oae  morning,  as  usual.    I  expected  her  home  and  waited 4inner 


112  BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLIKER. 

fo^'  her,  but  she  did  not  return.  She  had  taken  the  train  for  Saint 
Petersburg,  and  one  hundred  thousand  francs  that  Chautepie  gave 
her  out  of  my  safe,  in  compliance  with  her  request." 

**  What!  was  Chautepie  with  you,  then?" 

**  Yes;  he  had  been  in  my  employ  about  six  months.  It  was  she 
who  first  recommended  him  to  me.  1  understand  your  suspicions, 
and  1  will  speak  of  this  man  again  presently;  but  first  allow  me  to 
finish  this  lamentable  confession. 

"  1  had  strength  to  bear  the  blow,  and  1  did  everything  in  my 
power  to  spare  Clemence  all  possible  suffering.  It  was  a  terrible 
thing  to  her,  for  the  poor  child  adored  her  mother,  and  has  never 
forgotten  her.  It  was  she  who  first  recognized  her,  last  evenings,  at 
the  theater.  1  told  her  all  I  could  tell  a  child  of  that  age.  Then  1 
sent  word  to  that  degraded  creature  tbat  I  would  leave  her  in  un- 
disturbed possession  of  her  dowry  and  the  money  she  had  stolen 
from  me,  and  that  1  would  take  no  steps  to  procure  a  divorce  from 
her,  upon  one  condition— which  was,  that  she  would  never  set  foot 
in  France  again." 

"  And  she  accepted  the  terms?" 

'•  Yes,  1  have  a  letter  she  wrote  me  from  Kussia,  in  which  she  ac- 
ceded to  my  proposals,  but  in  which  she  never  even  inquired  tor 
her  daughter.  1  have  since  learned  that  she  soon  squandered  her 
fortune,  and  tbat  after  her  tenor  abandoned  her  she  used  her  beauty 
as  capital.  She  was  still  handsome,  then;  and  she  held  her  own 
bravely  among  the  adventuresses  of  Saint  Petersburg.  For  several 
years  past  she  has  been  the  mistress  of  a  Russian  prince,  whom  she 
deceives  in  the  most  brazen  manner." 

**  One  of  the  men  who  accompanied  her  last  evening,  probably?" 

"  Probably,  and  '  suppose  she  supports  the  other.  So  long  as  she 
concealed  her  shame  in  Kussia  1  allowea  her  to  live.  But  she  has 
broken  her  compact,  and  now  comes  to  Paris  to  torment  and  humili- 
ate me.     Either  she  or  1  must  go." 

•*  She  is  the  one  who  must  go,"  exclaimed  Subligny. 
•  And  who  is  to  drive  her  away?"  asked  M.  Yernelle,  sadly. 

Tou  certainly  can  not  think  of  it,  my  dear  Andre;  and  now  you 
Kaow  all,  1  beg  you  to  calmly  consider  the  future  that  would  await 
yoa  if  you  should  marry  Clemence.  She  is  my  daughter,  but  she  is 
also  the  daughter  of  that  shameless  and  degraded  creature." 

"  What  do  the  sins  of  the  mother  matter  to  me?" 

**  AYould  you  have  the  courage  to  expose  yourself  and  to  expose 
your  wife  to  the  humiliation  of  again  meeting  the  infamous  wretch 
who  paraded  her  shame  so  unblushingly  yesterday?" 

"  1  don't  know  how  1  shall  do  it;  but  1  swear  to  you  that  1  will 
save  Mademoiselle  Vernelle  from  any  such  humiliation  in  the 
future." 

'*  We  have  decided  to  leave  Paris." 

*•  We  are  not  the  ones  to  go. " 

"  We!  you  say,  '  we  '?" 

*'  Of  course,  as  1  am  soon  to  become  your  son-in-law." 

*'  So  you  insist!  Y"our  resolve  to  marry  Clemence  has  not  been 
weakened  by  the  frightful  revelations  that  have  just  been  made  to 
you?" 

'*  On  the  contrary,  they  have  ocJy  strengthened  it.    If  you  will 


BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLIiTER.  113 

nave  the  kindness  to  take  me  to  Mademoiselle  Vernelle,  1  will  im- 
plore hei  to  name  the  day  for  our  marriage.  It  shall  take  place  in 
one  week  from  this  time,  it  she  will  consent.  1  desire  only  time  to 
procure  an  affidavit  ot  my  father's  death,  and  my  mother's  writtten 
consent.     You  will  not  refuse  yours — " 

**  You  forget  one  that  is  indispensable — the  consent  of — this 
woman.     Will  you  go  and  ask  her  for  it?'' 

"  Wnat!  Mademoiselle  Vernelle  can  not  marry  without  the  con- 
sent ot  a  mother  who  certainly  lost  all  authority  over  her  when  she 
deserted  her?" 

**Ko,  my  friend.  The  law  is  explicit.  My  wife  has  as  much 
right  to  oppose  her  daughter's  marriage  as  the  tenderest  mother; 
and  if  she  refuses  her  consent,  Clemence  will  be  obliged  to  solicit  it. 
Would  j^ou  advise  her  to  submit  to  this  humiliation?" . 

Andre  hung  his  head ;  but  he  was  not  convinced,  and  his  hesita- 
tion lasted  only  a  moment. 

*•  I  will  obtain  this  consent  myself,''  he  said  firmly. 

**  How  will  you  do  it?" 

**  What  difference  does  that  make  to  you,  provided  I  succeed?  1 
B appose  you  have  no  fears  of  my  resorting  to  unworthy  means,  and 
that  you  will  allow  me  to  be  guided  entirely  by  my  judgment  in  the 
course  1  pursue?" 

**  Yes,  but  Clemence — " 

*•  She  knows*  nothing  about  the  law,  consequently  it  is  not  worth 
while  to  consult  her." 

*'  Not  upon  this  point,  perhaps;  but  it  will  be  necessary  to  induce 
her  to  revoke  her  decision.  She  has  given  you  up.  She  told  me  so 
not  an  hour  ago. ' ' 

'*  Because  she  attributed  to  me  sentiments  that  1  do  not  feel.  But 
when  you  tell  her  that  1  know  all,  and  that  I  love  her  more  than 
ever,  she  will  not  drive  me  to  despair  by  a  refusal." 

**  Why  do  you  not  tell  her  all  this  yourself?" 

**  1  am  ready  to  do  so.     When  will  you  allow  me  to  see  her?" 

"  In  another  moment,  if  you  like.     I  left  her  in  the  little  salon,'* 

'*  Does  she  know  that  I  am  here?" 

**  She  probably  suspects  as  much;  and  the  time  is  not  unfavor- 
able. You  will  find  her  greatly  agitated  by  the  danger  I  have  just 
escaped. ' ' 

**The  danger  you  have  just  escaped!"  exclaimed  Subligny,  in 
great  astonishment. 

**  Yes,  I  have  but  narrowly  escaped  death  by  poison.  It  had 
already  affected  me  considerably,  and  another  dose  might  have 
killed  me.  You  doubtless  recollect  that  my  physician,  astonished 
at  the  effect  the  bromide  had  upon  me,  took  a  powder  away  with 
him  in  order  to  have  it  analyzed." 

*'Well?" 

**  Well,  it  seems  that  the  medicine  contained  strychnine  in  such 
proportions  that  two  or  three  doses  more  would  have  killed  me;  and 
I  learned  this  fact  jast  as  I  was  about  to  take  another." 

"  Poison!  that  is  terrible!     Who  could  have  done  it?" 

'•  That  is  what  1  have  been  vainly  asking  myself.  1  have  mysug- 
picions,  but  until  I  am  certain  1  shall  be  silent,  tor  fear  of  accusing 
ftU  ijy^ocent  person.    Whtift  I  h^v^  a  talJi:  witji  Doctor  Y^lbr^gu^ 


Il4  BABIOLE,    THE    PRETTY    MILLIKER. 

btj  can  perhaps  assist  me  in  discovering  the  culprit.  But  to  return 
to  your  aflairs,  njy  dear  Andie.  Do  you  really  wish  to  see  my 
davighter?" 

'*  1  implore  you  to  take  me  to  her  at  once." 

**  Did  1  tell  you  that  she  is  not  alone?" 

**  No;  I  was  not  aware  of  that,"  stammered  Subligny,  somewhat 
disconcerted. 

*'  A  person  whom  j^ou  know,  and  who  knows  you — who  seems  to 
take  a  great  interest  in  you,  in  fact— is  with  her.  She  lives  in  the 
house  where  you  stayed  on  your  arrival  in  Paris.  Having  been  a 
neighbor  ot  yours,  and  being*  very  anxious  to  see  you,  she  came  here 
in  search  of  you." 

Andre  fell  from  the  clouds. 

What  could  Babiole  want?  How  had  she  managed  to  discover 
M.  Vernelle's  name  and  address?  On  escorting  "her  home,  the 
evening  before,  Andre  had  taken  good  care  not  to  tell  her  his  em- 
ployer's name,  or  where  he  lived,  for  he  was  a  little  afraid  of  her. 
Several  words  which  had  escaped  her,  made  him  suspect  that  she 
was  jealous  of  Clemence,  and  he  was  theiefore  anxious  to  prevent 
the  two  girls  from  finding  themselves  again  face  to  face. 

Now,  he  asked  himself,  with  no  little  trepidation,  what  could  be 
the  object  of  Babiole's  unexpected  visit  to  the  banker  and  his 
daughter. 

*'  You  seem  annoyed  to  learn  that  this  young  woman  is  here,  ' 
remarked  M.  Yernelle. 

*'  1  am  greatly  astonished,"  replied  the  young  secretary,  **  and  1 
can  not  imagine  what  she  has  to  say  to  me.  1  know  her  but  slightly, 
and  whatever  she  has  to  tell  might  have  been  told  last  evening,  for 
1  met  her  on  leaving  the  theater." 

"  She  has  come  to  tell  you  that  she  discovered  your  friend,  Mon- 
sieur Marbeuf,  to-day.  He  is  in  Paris.  She  has  seen  him,  and  her 
fir^t  thought  was  to  apprise  you  of  the  fact.  She  did  not  know 
where  you  lived,  but  hoped  to  find  you  here;  and  it  is  very  fortunate 
that  she  came,  for  it  was  she  who  prevented  me  from  poisoning  my- 
eelf.  She  had  just  heard  at  the  Neck(  r  Hospital  that  the  powders  1 
was  taking  contained  strychnine.  Consequently,  we  owe  her  no 
slight  debt  of  gratitude,  and  my  daughter  was  not  willing  to  let  her 
go  away,  though  she  treated  her  rather  coldlj^  at  first.  Between  our- 
Beives,  my  dear  Andre,  you  were  the  cause  of  it,  for  the  girl  is  very 
pretty,  and  Clemence  is  a  little  inclined  to  be  jealous.  But  the 
clouds  were  soon  dispelled,  and  the  pair  are  now  the  best  friends  in 
the  world." 

Andre  breathed  freely  once  more,  though  he  was  not  greatly  en- 
lightened by  the  explanation,  as  M.  Vernelle  had  left  him  quite  in 
the  dark  in  regard  lo  the  situation,  and  Marbeuf 's  history  in  par- 
ticular. Nevertheless,  he  felt  that  it  would  be  best  to  settle  tlie 
matter  then  and  there.  To  hesitate  to  see  Mile.  Vernelle  in  Ba- 
biole's presence  would  be  equivalent  to  confessing  that  there  was 
a  secret  between  the  little  milliner  and.  hiii.self,  and  would  spoil  the 
fortunate  result  of  the  girl's  inteiview. 

So  Andre  resolved  to  burn  his  ships  behind  him;  that  is  to  say, 
to  speak  to  his  betrothed  exactly  as  if  Babiole  were  not  withiu  hear- 
ing.   Having  never  couimiUed  iiimseU  in  any  way  with  Babiole,  he 


BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLINER.  115 

had  DOlhing  to  conceal  from  her;  and  it  she  cherished  any  hope  of 
winning  his  love,  it  was  time  to  dispel  the  illusion. 

**  Very  well,  sir,"  he  said,  firmly,  turning  to  the  banker,  "  as  you 
seem  to  think  that  my  former  neighbor  can  be  present,  without  any 
impropriety,  at  the  interview  vfhich  you  kintlly  grant  me  with 
Mademoiselle  Vernelle,  I  beg  that  it  may  be  no  longer  deferred." 
"You  are  quite  right,  my  friend,"  was  the  reply.     **  Come." 
And  taking  Andres  arm  he  led  him  to  the  salon.     To  reach  it 
they  were  obliged  to  pass  through  the  antechamber  in  which  the 
footman  was  seated,  and  that  worthy  checked  his  master  to  whisper: 
"  The  young  woman  is  still  there." 

**  1  am  aware  of  the  fact,"  replied  M.  Vernelle,  dryly,  probably 
thinking  that  his  servant  displayed  too  much  shrewdness. 

When  the  gentlemen  entered  the  room,  they  found  the  two  girls 
chatting  familiarly.  Their  friendship  seemed  to  be  making  rapid 
progress. 

Babiole  blushed  a  little  on  perceiving  Andre,  but  she  did  not  ap- 
pear embarrassed,  and  her  manner  completely  reassured  Mile.  Ver- 
nelle, who  was  furtively  watchmg  her. 

The  most  uncomfortable  of  the  three  was  certainly  Subligny ;  not 
that  he  hesitated  for  an  instant  to  make  his  declaration,  but  he  recol- 
lected a  little  too  late  that  Babiole  with  a  single  word  might  place 
him  m  a  position  of  terrible  embarrassment. 

To  do  this  it  was  only  necessary  for  her  to  divulge,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Clemence  and  her  father,  wtiat  she  knew  about  Marbeuf. 
An  imprudent  allusion  to  the  lost  or  stolen  bank-notes  would  be 
quite  enough  to  excite,  on  M.  Vernelle's  part,  questions  to  which  it 
would  be  difficult  for  8ubligny  to  give  truthful  replies. 

He  therefore  resolved  to  avert  the  danger,  as  far  as  possible,  by 
questioning  Babiole  himself. 

**  Mademoiselle,"  he  said  to  her,  after  greeting  Clemence  affec- 
tionately, '*  I  hear  that  you  have  met  my  friend,  Marbeuf,  and  1 
shall  be  very  happy  to  talk  with  you  about  the  worthy  fellow,  who, 
1  fear,  has  been  guilty  of  a  great  mistake  in  leaving  his  employers. 
But  these  matters  will  not  interest  Monsieur  Vernelle;  and  I  will 
call  at  his  rooms  on  the  Rue  Lamartine  this  evening.  He  will  proba- 
bly be  there  by  that  time,  if  he  is  not  there  already.  Y^ou  live  in  the 
same  house;  and  if  you  have  no  objections,  1  will  come  up  to  your 
room  after  1  nave  seen  the  concierge,  who  is  intending,  1  am  told, 
to  send  my  friend's  furniture  to  |he  auction  room." 

"  1  was  going  to  ask  you  to  come,"  replied  Babiole,  unhesitating- 
ly. "  Monsieur  Marbeuf  needs  your  assistance:  but  it  is  useless  to 
discuss  his  misfortunes  betore  this  gentleman  and  his  daughter.  1 
have  therefore  refrained  from  saying  anything  to  them  on  the  sub- 
ject; but  1  was  extremely  anxious  to  inform  you  of  the  state  of 
affairs.  That,  indeed,  is  the  only  reason  why  1  ventured  to  come 
here." 

"  She  understands;  Heaven  be  praised!"  thought  ^Ludre. 
"But  you  will  come  again,  1  sincerely  hope,"  said  Clemence. 
"  1  am  already  deeply  indebted  to  you;  and  I  should  be  very  glad 
to  have  you  regard  me  as  a  friend." 

Babiole  thanked  her,  though  not  without  a  little  reserve;  and 
Subligny,  reassured  upon  these  points,  no  longer  hesjt^t^d. 


116  BABIOLE,   THE    PRETTY    MILLINER. 

''Mademoiselle,"  he  began,  addressing  his  betrothed,  '*!  oom^ 
with  your  father's  permission,  to  ask  you  to  appoint  the  day  tor  oui 
marriage." 

"Our  marriage!"  murmured  Mile.  Vernelle.  **  Has  not  my  father 
told  you— " 

"  He  has  told  me  all,  mademoiselle;  and  my  feelings  have  under- 
gone no  change.  This  is  the  fourteenth  of  March.  It  you  are  will- 
ing, we  will  be  married  before  the  last  of  the  month.  On  my  knees,  1 
entreat  you  to  name  an  early  day." 

Andre  had  never  taken  part  in  any  parlor  charades;  but  deep  teel- 
ing  is  an  admirable  substitute  for  talent,  and  he  executed  admirably 
the  rather  theatrical  movement  ot  throwing  himself  at  a  woman's 
feet,  a  very  difticult  thing  to  do  effectively,  especially  in  the  presence 
of  witnesses.  He  performed  the  feat,  however,  with  a  grace  and 
naturalness  which  would  have  excited  the  envy  of  many  first-class 
actors,  and  which  certainly  touched  Clemence. 

She  could  not  summon  up  courage  to  uttei  either  a  refusal  or  an 
assent;  bat  she  gave  him  her  hand,  which  he  kibsed  ardently,  yet 
respectfully. 

M.  Veinelle  was  weeping. 

Babiole  had  become  grave.  It  was  evident  that  she  was  not.pre- 
pared  for  this  scene,  and  that  it  made  her  feel  anything  but  com- 
fortable. 

Andre,  who  had  known  so  well  how  to  fall  upon  his  knees,  also 
knew  how  to  rise  in  time,  tor  there  are  situations  which  can  not  be 
prolonged  without  becoming  ridiculous;  but  sincerity  is  everything, 
and  Andre  was  thoroughly  in  earnest.  He  forgot,  at  that  moment, 
the  troublesome  past  and  the  uncertain  future;  he  even  foigot  that 
Babiole  was  looking  on. 

She  was  already  upon  her  feet,  preparing  to  go.  Andre  walked 
straight  to  M.  Verne) ie,  who  opened  his  arms  to  receive  him,  and 
who  pressed  him  to  his  heart,  calling  him,  *'  My  spn." 

**  Trust  me,  sir,"  said  Subligny,  warmly.  *' In  less  than  three 
days  the  obstacles  you  mentioned  to  me  will  have  ceased  to  exist." 

Clemence  rose  in  her  turn.  She  had  understood  him,  for  she 
said  in  a  voice  that  trembled  with  emotion: 

*'  Andre,  1  belong  to  you,  and  I  intrust  my  father's  honor  to  your 
keeping.  1  will  watch  over  the  life  threatened  by  the  wretches  who 
have  rained  him.  Do  not  lose  a  moment,  but  remember,  too,  all 
who  love  you — your  friend  who  is  waiting  anxiously  for  you  to  come 
to  his  relief,  and  this  child,  who  has  such  a  claim  upon  your  grati- 
tude and  mine.     Go  with  her  at  once." 

Andre  had  not  dared  to  hope  for  such  a  brilliant  success;  but  he 
was  none  the  less  anxious  to  profit  by  it.  M.  Vernelle,  too,  gave  him 
an  encouraging  look. 

**  Will  you  permit  me  1o  dispose  of  to-morrow  as  I  see  fit?"  Sub- 
ligny  inquired  of  him.     '*  1  will  endeavor  to  make  good  use  of  it." 

*'  A  much  better  use  of  it  than  in  my  office,  I  doubt  not,"  replied 
the  banker,  sadly.  '*  My  business  career  is  virtually  ended;  and  I 
have  no  further  need  of  a  secretary,  my  dear  Andre.  But  1  count 
upon  seeing  you  to-morrow.  You  will  dine  with  us,  1  trust;  and  1 
ardently  hope  you  will  bring  us  good  news.  I  wish  this  more  thaft 
1  expect  it;." 


BABIOLE,   THE    PKETTY    MlLLlKER.  11'? 

Babiole  seemed  to  have  been  suddenly  changed  into  a  statue.  She 
alio tv^ed  Mile.  Yernelle  to  kiss  her  upon  both  cheeks,  then  made  a 
deep  courtesy  to  M.  Vernelle,  and  left  the  room  without  casting  a 
single  glance  behmd  lier. 

Autiie  followed  her;  and  the  footman  stared  at  them  in  mute  as- 
tonishment us  they  passed  out,  escorted  to  the  door  by  his  master. 

This  departure  under  the  banker's  protection  was  a  great  surprise 
to  Pierre,  and  upset  all  his  notions  ot  propriety. 

Subligny  was  eager  to  question  Babiole;  but  he  did  not  wish  to 
begin  conversation  on  the  staircase;  besides,  after  so  many  exciting 
surprises  he  felt  the  need  of  composing  himself  a  little.  His  com- 
panion was  not  acquainted  with  all  the  details  of  his  affair  with 
Marbeuf,  and  he  did  not  intend  she  should  be;  so  he  was  wonder- 
ing how  he  should  broach  the  subject  without  apprising  her  ot  facts 
ofwhich  she  was  doubtless  ignorant,  for  it  was  not  at  all  probable 
that  Marbeuf  had  made  a  full  confession. 

She  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence,  which  was  maintained 
until  Ihey  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  but  it  was  not  to  speak  o* 
her  former  neighbor. 

**  1  was  not  aware  that  you  expected  to  marry  your  employer's 
daughter,"  she  remarked,  *'  though  1  might  have  known  it  by  the 
way  you  were  looking  at  her  last  night.  Rich  young  ladies  are  very 
fortunate.  They  can  marry  to  please  themselves.  1  shall  never 
marry." 

*'  Why  not?"  cried  Subligny.  '*  When  Mademoiselle  Yernelle  is 
my  wife,  she  and  1  will  find  a  nice  husband  for  you,  and — " 

But  he  saw  that  Babiole  was  not  listening.  She  was  looking  at 
two  men  who  were  standing  near  the  gateway  ot  a  house  on  the  cor- 
ner of  the  Rue  Rougemont. 

**It  is  he!"  she  murmured,  laying  her  hand  on  Andre's  arm. 
*'  It  is  that  hateful  Chautepie  He  has  seen  us,  and  is  coming  toward 
us.  1  don't  intend  to  wait  for  him,  for  1  shall  certainly  tear  his  eyes 
out  if  he  speaks  a  word  to  me.  I  shall  not  go  out  to-morrow,  so  call 
at  whatever  hour  you  like,  and  1  will  tell  jou  where  Monsieur  Mar- 
beuf is.'' 

And  without  giving  Subligny  any  time  to  utter  a  protest,  Babiole 
ran  lightly  across  the  street,  and  in  another  minute  was  out  of  sight. 

Babiole  was  right.  It  was,  indeed,  Chautepie  who  stood  talking 
on  the  opposite  sidewalk  with  a  man  who  looked  very  much  like  a 
bailiff's  clerk. 

Andre  felt  no  more  desire  to  enter  into  conversation  with  the 
cashier  than  Babiole  did;  but  it  was  too  late  to  avoid  him  without 
appearing  to  flee  from  him,  tor  he  had  left  his  companion,  and  was 
hastening  toward  Andre. 

**  Good  morning,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  cried.  **  That  is  a  very 
pretty  girl.  Why  did  she  run  away  as  soon  as  she  saw  me?  Wasn't 
it  the  same  girl  I  met  in  your  frierid  Marbeuf 's  room  the  day  1  first 
made  your  acquaintance?  She  ran  away  that  morning  too.  She 
seems  to  be  afraid  of  me.  You  sliow  very  good  taste  in  your  selec- 
tion ot  a  mistress;  but  you  do  very  wrong  to  make  an  appointment 
with  her  at  your  employer's  door,  for  if  his  daughter  should  see  you 
with  her,  it  would  not  improve  your  prospects  mj/* 


118  BABIOLE,   THIS    PftETTY    MtLLlKM. 

**  You  are  very  much  mistaken  in  regard  to  that  young  lady.  She 
is  not  my  mistress,"  said  Subligny,  angrily. 

**  Calm  yourself,  my  dear  fellow.  1  have  no  right  to  meddle  with 
your  love  affairs,  I  know;  but  a  word  or  two  of  good  advice  are  never 
amiss.  Let  us  change  the  subject.  You  know  that  Vernelle  is 
ruined,  I  suppose?" 

"  Yes;  and  1  also  know  that  he  has  been  basely  defrauded  by  Ber- 
tand." 

"Defrauded!  The  deuce!  you  are  putting  it  pretty  strong;  and 
if  Bertand  should  hear  you — " 

•*  I  am  ready  to  repeat  to  his  face  exactly  what  1  just  said  to  you." 

**  I  don't  deny  it.  He  has  not  charged  me  with  the  task  of  defend- 
ing him.  But  what  are  you  going  to  do?  The  house  will  ^^o  to 
pieces,  and  1  shall  not  remain  in  it.  Vernelle  will  not  need  a  cashier 
when  his  sate  is  empty,  and  that  will  soon  be  the  case.  I  can  easily 
obtain  a  position  elsewhere;  but  what  will  become  of  you?" 

"  What  ousiness  is  it  ot  yours  what  becoaies  of  me?" 

"  You  seem  to  be  offended  with  me.  Why,  1  sliould  like  to  know? 
Because  I  loaned  you  one  hundred  thousand  francs  to  keep  you  from 
blowing  your  brains  out—one  hundred  thousand  fraucs  to  replace 
the  money  your  friend  Marbeuf  took  away  with  hira  to  a  foreign 
land?  In  that  case,  you  would  do  well  to  repay  the  loan  before  you 
insult  me. ' ' 

Andre  had  a  startling  response  upon  his  lips.  He  was  strongly 
tempted  to  reply:  "  Marbeuf  is  found;  Marbeuf  is  in  Paris,  and 
will  vindicate  himself,"  but  he  paused  in  time,  remembering  that  it 
was  not  advisable  for  him  to  say  this  until  he  had  seen  his  triend. 
But  Chautepie  had  gone  too  far,  and  Andre  resolved  to  break  off  all 
connection  w\th  him  then  and  there. 

'*  Sir,  this  is  the  second  time  that  you  have  taunted  me  with  my 
indebtedness  to  you,"  he  said,  drawing  himself  up  haughtily.  **  You 
forced  the  service  to  which  you  allude,  upon  me.  I  will  pay  yoa 
legal  interest  on  the  sum  loaned  me  as  long  as  I  live,  and  at  my  death 
the  loan  will  be  repaid  by  an  insurance  company;  but  I  cannot  allow 
you  to  give  me  instructions  and  orders  in  regard  to  matters  that  do 
not  concern  you  in  the  least.  1  even  torbid  you  to  ever  address  an- 
other word  ^o  me.  If  you  take  offense  at  my  language,  I  am  ready 
to  fight  with  you  whenever  you  like. " 

"  Thanks;  you  might  kill  me,  or  I  might  kill  you,  and  in  either 
case,  1  should  lose  my  money,  for  the  insurance  companies  do  not 
pay  policy  holders  who  are  k'lled  in  duels  or  who  comm.it  suicide. 
These  two  exceptions  are  made  in  every  policy.  Y^ou  had  better  read 
j^ours  over  again.  I  shall  not  fight  with  you,  and  1  hope  that  you 
have  given  up  all  idea  ot  blowing  your  brains  out,  tor  your  happi- 
ness is  now  virtually  assured.  Mademoiselle  Vernelle  loves  you, 
and  will  marry  you  whenever  you  like." 

"  I  forbid  you  to  mention  that  young  lady's  name." 

'•  Of  course  I  have  it  in  my  power  to  prevent  this  marriage,"  con 
tinned  Chautepie,  without  paying  the  slight(;st  attention  to  his  com- 
panion's remark.  *'  If  1  should  send  Vernelle  or  his  daughter  the  let- 
ter you  were  writing  just  as  I  arrived  to  save  you— the  letter  iu 
which  you  accuse  yourself  of  having  stolen — " 

*'  My  letter  to  Marbeuf  ?" 


BABIOLE,   THE    PHETTY    MILLIKEH.  119 

"Yes,  it  is  clear  and  explicit.  1  have  preserved  it  among  my 
papers,  with  your  receipt,  which  is  also  sufficiently  plain.  *  I  hereby 
acknowledge  that  Monsieur  Chautepie  has  paid  into  Monsieur 
Yerneile's  safe,  in  my  stead,  the  sum  of  one  hundred  thousand 
francs,  due  from  me  to  said  safe,'  the  receipt  reads,  if  my  memory 
serves  me.  What  do  you  think  will  be  the  result  if  1  exhibit 
these  dncumentsT' 

Andre  remained  mute.  He  realized  that  he  was  at  this  man's 
mercy,  and  his  impotent  rage  nearly  choked  him. 

*'  But  you  need  ha^e  no  fear,  my  dear  felow,"  continued  Chautepie. 
**  1  shall  not  make  use  of  them,  and  1  would  not  injure  you  for  the 
world.  1  am  a  little  rousih,  someiimes,  for  1  have  not  had  the  ad- 
vantages that  you  have,  but  1  liked  you  from  the  very  first,  and 
when  you  learn  to  know  me  better,  you  will  regret  having  so  mis- 
judged me.  You  must  imagine,  I  am  sure,  that  my  anxiety  for  you 
to  marry  Mademoiselle  Vernelle  is  due  solely  to  a  desire  to  insure  the 
payment  of  your  indebtedness  to  me.  1  will  convince  you  to  the 
contrary. 

**  Mademoiselle  Vernelle  will  not  have  a  penny  of  dowry,  and  her 
father  will  leave  her  nothing.  Handsome  and  well-mannered  as 
you  are,  you  might  marry  a  very  wealthy  heiress.  Nevertheless,  I 
urge  you  more  strongly  than  ever  to  marry  Mademoiselle  Vernelle. 
Why?  Because  I  know  that  you  love  her,  and  that  she  will  make 
you  pertectly  happy.  This  is  certainly  disinterested  advice.  Not 
that  1  renounce  all  hope  of  being  repaid  some  da}^  by  any  means.  1 
have  great  hopes  of  your  future.  I  feel  sure  that  you  will  make  a 
fortune,  so  1  need  not  depend  uponyour  bride's  dowry  tor  payment.'' 

This  Avas  said  with  a  kindly  frankness  that  modified  Andre's  con- 
victions a  little.  It  might  be,  after  all,  that  the  cashiei  was  a  sort  of 
surly  benefactor,  and  that  Babiole  imputed  to  him  crimes  of  which 
he  was  innocent. 

**  Shall  1  give  you  another  proof  of  my  good  faith?"  continued 
Chautepie.  '*  I  told  you  yesterday  that  Madame  Vernelle  had  turned 
out  badly.  Nevertheless,  she  is  Mademoiselle  Clemence's  mother, 
and  you  cannot  marry  without  her  consent.  She  has  just  arrived  in 
Paris,  which  is  very  unfortunate  lor  her  husband,  as  well  as  for  you; 
ab  she  is  quite  capable  of  refusing  her  consent  it  only  to  torment 
and  infuriate  poor  Vernelle,  and  cause  a  scandal  which  you  w^ould 
much  prefer  to  avoid,  1  suppose. 

*'  Ah  well,  would  you  like  for  her  to  grant  you  permission  to  marry 
her  daughter,  and  for  her  to  then  return  to  the  country  from  whence 
she  came — Russia?" 

'*  Are  you  acquainted  with  her?"  exclaimed  Subligny. 

**  1  have  known  h«T  for  at  least  twenty  years.  It  was  she  who 
secured  me  a  situation  under  Vernelle." 

*'  1  know  it.     He  told  me  so." 

"Ah!"  said  Chautepie,  evidently  somewhat  disconcerted.  Then 
quickly  recovering  himself,  he  added: 

*'  Oh,  yes,  you  saw  him  that  evening  at  the  Opera  Comique. 
Bertand  told  me  so.  It  seems  that  you  treated  the  poor  fellow  rather 
shabbily  in  XhefoT/er,  but  that  is  no  concern  of  mine.  1  underatand 
now  how  Vernelle  came  to  tell  you  about  his  wife.  He  was  com- 
pelled to  explain  why  he  ran  away  as  soon  as  he  saw  her.    But  what 


1:^0  BABIOLE,   THE    PBETTY    MILLIKER. 

»ie  could  not  have  told  you,  because  he  does  not  know,  was  his  be« 
Joved  wile's  present  situation.  I  am  acquainted  with  it,  and  it 
would  be  well  for  you  to  become  acquainted  with  it  also,  unless  you 
have  abanaoned  the  idea  ot  marrying — " 

**  Before  the  expiration  of  the  present  month  Mademoiselle  Vernelle 
will  be  my  wife." 

*  *  I  congratulate  you  most  heartily,  ray  dear  fellow.  It  is  a  decision 
that  does  you  honor,  and  1  assure  you  that  you  will  not  regret  it," 
^  said  Chautepie,  warmly.  **  I  am  so  delighted  that  1  can  overlook 
anything— your  ungracious  greeting,  your  proposal  to  tight,  your 
indebtedness.  You  can  pay  me  whenever  it  suits  your  convenience. 
1  am  in  no  hurry;  and  if  1  can  do  anything  to  facilitate  your  mar- 
riage, it  will  afford  me  the  greatest  pleasure  imaginable.  The  main 
thing  is  to  obtain  the  consent  ot  Yolande— Madame  Vernelle's  name 
is  Yolande,  and  her  ancestors  distinguished  themselves  in  the 
Crusades.  At  the  present  time  she  is  mistress  of  Prince  Lipetsk, 
with  whom  she  formed  a  liaison  eight  years  ago,  and  who  has  had 
enough  of  her.  He  regards  her  very  much  as  a  galley-slave  regards 
his  ball  and  chain;  and  is  only  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  get  rid 
of  her.  It  he  does  abandon  her,  matters  will  be  even  worse,  for  she 
will  sink  still  lower,  and  he  will  abandon  her  instantly,  if  he  dis- 
covers that  she  is  a  married  woman." 

"  Is  it  possible  that  he  is  still  ignorant  of  that  fact?** 

"  Entirely.  She  has  made  him  believe  that  she  is  the  widow  of 
some  country  gentleman  in  Normandy.  The  tenor  who  eloped  with 
her,  ot  course,  knew  better,  but  he  kept  her  secret  for  her.  Now, 
this  Russian  has  a  horror  of  complications.  He  tolerates  Yolande's 
lovers,  and  remains  with  her  frorn  force  of  habit,  but  the  prospect  of 
a  lawsuit  would  appall  him,  and  of  course  Vernelle  would  have  no 
difficulty  in  proving  his  wife's  guilt  and  in  having  the  prince  indicted 
as  her  accomplice." 

*'  Monsieur  Yernelle  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind." 

**  1  know  that  perfectly  well;  but  by  threatening  Yolande  with 
prosecution,  you  can  obtain  whatever  you  desire  of  her,  for  she  sets 
great  store  on  her  prince,  for  the  reason  that  she  has  squandered  all 
her  own  money,  and  he  is  very  liberal  with  his.  Now  what  Vernelle 
will  not  do  1  am  sure — he  is  too  proud — you  can  do.  If  1  were 
fei  your  place,  I  would  go  and  see  her.  She  has  leased  a  charming 
furnished  house  on  the  Rue  Galilee,  No.  47,  and  is  known  as  the 
Baroness  Orbec.  If  you  go  at  once  you  will  be  sure  to  find  her  at 
*jhome;  she  always  returns  from  her  afternoon  drive  about  five 
o'clock,  and  does  not  dine  untill  eight.  If  I  were  in  your  place,  as 
1  said  before,  1  would  go  and  see  her  and  make  known  my  con- 
ditions." 

**  What  conditions?" 

*'  1  should  first  demand  her  consent  to  her  daughter's  marriage — 
her  written  consent — couched  in  legal  terms.  She  will  not  hesitate 
to  give  it  if  you  do  not  spare  your  threats.  Afterward  I  should  extort 
from  her  a  promise  to  leave  Paris  immediately.  That  will  be  a  more 
difficult  task,  for  the  prince  wishes  to  spend  the  winter  here,  but  he 
will  cheerfully  allow  her  to  go  to  Nice  or  Monaco;  and  in  that  case, 
you  will  be  well  rid  of  her,  at  least,  until  spring. 

*^Sut  you  have  no  time  to  lose,  fer  Veruelte  is  ailiog,  and  this 


BABIOLE,  THE  PRETTY  MlLLIKER.       131 

new  trouble  will  not  do  him  any  good.  He  may  die  any  day,  and 
when  he  is  dead,  you  will  have  no  means  of  action  against  Yo- 
lande." 

Andie  started  violently  as  he  thought  of  the  attempted  poisoning 
of  which  M.  Vernelle  had  so  narrowly  escaped  becoming  the  vic- 
tim; but  he  could  no  longer  suspect  Chautepie,  who  was  proposing 
a  plan  of  action  that  was  dependent  uporf  the  banker's  existence, 
and  he  asked  himself  if  he  should  follow  this  bold  but  sensible 
counsel 

If  Chautepie  told  the  truth  in  regard  to  Mme.  Vernelle,  the  plan 
might  prove  successful,  and  M.  Vernelle  had  just  given  him  full 
permission  to  do  anything  he  might  deem  expedient  to  obtain  his 
wife's  consent. 

"  Go,  my  deal  fellow,**  urged  the  cashier;  **  go  at  once.  Tell 
her  plainly  that  you  come  on  behalf  of  her  husband,  but  do  not 
tell  her  that  the  marriage  is  decided  upon.  Above  all,  do  not  tell 
her  whom  Mademoiselle  Vernelle  is  to  marry,  and  do  not  introduce 
yourself  under  your  real  name.  It  is  very  important  that  Yolando 
should  not  know  that  you  are  the  son  of  Monsieur  Charles  Subligny, 
with  whom  she  was  well  acquainted  in  former  years." 

**  I  am  not  at  all  anxious  to  divulge  my  name,  1  am  sure,"  mut- 
tered Andre. 

*'  But  you  are  anxious  to  marry  Mademoiselle  Clemence,  and  you 
are  right.  I  have  indicated  to  you  the  only  means  of  overcoming 
the  obstacle  that  looms  up  in  your  path.  Resort  to  it,  and  without 
delay.  You  will  be  mariied  before  the  end  of  the  month,  and  you 
will  find  afterward  that  Jules  Chautepie  is  not  as  bad  as  he  seems  to 
be.  Now  I  must  step  in  and  see  our  employer,  and  tender  him  my 
lesignation.  Au  revoir,  my  dear  fellow,  and  good  luck  to  you  on 
the  Rue  Galilee!" 

Chautepie  turned  and  entered  the  banker's  house,  leaving  Andre 
Subligny  standing  on  the  pavement  in  a  deeply  agitated  and  per- 
plexed frame  of  mind. 

**  What  am  I  to  believe  and  do?'*  he  murmured.  **  Am  I  mis- 
taken in  regard  to  this  man?  Perhaps  so.  But  why  is  he  so  very 
anxious  for  me  to  marry  Clemence?" 

The  conclusion  of  '*  Babiole,  the  Pretty  Milliner,**  by 
F.  Du  Boisgobey,  entitled  "The  Victim  of  Destiny,"  is  pub- 
lished in  The  Seaside  Library,  No.  2032.    Price  25  cents. 


^rinnnnr^rrinnnnr^nnnnr^^ 


^ 


THE  FOLLOWING  BOOKS 


CHARLES  GARYICE 

ARE   NOW  READY  IN 

THE  LAUREL  LIBRARY: 


No. 

3  Paid  For!  (Her  Ransom). 

4  Elaine. 

6  On  Love's  Altar  (A  Wast- 
ed Love). 
11  Better  than  Life. 

17  Married  at  Sight. 

18  Once  in  a  Life. 

19  A  Life's  Mistake. 

20  She  Loved  Him. 

21  The  Marquis. 

23  'Twas  Love's  Fault 

(Nance). 

24  Queen  Kate. 

25  His  Love  So  True  (Leslie's 

Loyalty). 

26  In  Cupid's  Chains. 

27  Just    a    Girl   (A    Strange 

Duchess). 

28  Tlie  Outcast  of  the  Family 

29  The     Mistress    of    Court 

Regna  (Claire).     Illus- 
trated. 

30  A  Coronet  of  Shame. 


(Her 
Illus- 


No. 

31  An    Innocent    Girl 

Heart's  Desire), 
trated. 

32  By  Devious    Ways  '(llie 

Girl  of  His  Heart).    Il- 
lustrated. 

33  Story  of  a  Passion.  Illus- 

trated. 
35  Lorrie;  or,  Hollow  Gold. 
37  Heart  for  Heart. 

39  A  Modern  Juliet. 

40  Nell  of  Shorne  Mills. 

41  A  LTeritage  of  Hate. 

42  The  Shadow  of  Her  Life. 

43  Love,  the  Tyrant. 

44  At  Love's  Cost. 

45  With  All  Her  Heart. 

49  Only  a  Girl's  Love. 

50  Leola  Dale's  Fortune. 

51  Only  One  Love. 

52  His  Guardian  Angel. 

56  Iris;  or,  Under  the  Shad- 
ow. 


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THE 

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WITH 

jS  COMBINATION   NUMBERS,  ^ 

AND  « 

I       THE     ORACULUM;      i 

OB, 

Napoleon  Bonaparte's  Book  of  Fate. 


o 


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Both  sacred  and  profane  history  are  full  of  so  many 
examples  of  the  fulfillment  of  dreams,  that  he  must  be 
very  skeptical  and  but  little  versed  in  natural  science 
who  would  refuse  to  have  faith  in  them. 

In  this  book  the  interpretation  of  almost  every  im- 
aginable dream  is  given,  based  on  practical  experience, 
by  a  man  who  has  made  this  particular  branch  of  re- 
search a  life  study. 

This  book  also  contains  Napoleon's  Oraculum,  which 
was  consulted  by  him  on  every  occasion.  The  trans- 
lator has  several  times  consulted  it  for  his  own  amuse- 
ment, and,  incredible  as  it  may  appear,  he  found  its 
answers  to  correspond  with  truth,  as  they  afterward 
came  to  pass. 


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in  a  unique  symbolic  cover. 

For  sale  by  all  newsdealers,  or  sent  by  mail,  postage  paid,  oa 

receipt  of  25  cents,  by  the  publishers.    Address 

GEORGE  MUNRO'S  SONS,  Publishers, 

17  to  27  Vandewater  St.,  New  York. 

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o 


TWENTY-FIVE 

Masterpieces  of  Ddmas 

MAILED    FOR    $1.50. 


ARRANGED    CHRONOLOGICALLY  IN  THE    ORDER    IN  WHICH 
THEY  SHOULD  BE  READ. 

Ascanio. 

The  Two  Dianas. 

The  Page  of  the  Duke  of  Savoy. 
Marguerite  de  Valois. 
Chicot  the  Jester. 
The  Forty- five  Guardsmen. 

The  Three  Musketeers. 

Twenty  Years  After. 

The  Yicomte  de  Bragelonne. 
Ten  Years  Later. 
Louise  de  la  Valliere. 
The  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask. 
The  War  of  Women;  or,  Kanon. 
The  Black  Tulip. 

Beau  Tancrede;  or,  The  Marriage  Verdict. 
The  Conspirators;  or,  The  Chevalier  d'Harmental. 
The  Regent's  Daughter. 
Joseph  Balsamo. 

The  Memoirs  of  a  Physician. 

The  Queen's  Necklace. 
Six  Years  Later;  or,  Taking  the  Bastile. 
The  Countess  de  Charny. 
Andree  de  Taverney. 

The  Chevalier  de  Maison  Rouge. 
The  Corsican  Brothers. 


The  above  Books  will  be  sold  only  in 
lots  of  25  at  $1.50. 


Address  GEORGE  MUNRO'S  SONS,  Publishers, 

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"Look  it  up  in  the  Dream  Book." 

THE 

MASCOT 
DREAM    BOOK, 

WITH 

COMBINATION  NUMBERS. 


Price   lO    Cents* 


The  Mascot  Dream  Book  is  the  most  complete 
and  serviceable  ever  issued  at  the  low  price  of  10 
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It  has  been  rendered  famous  by  the  success  and 
good  fortune  invariably  attending  those  who  con- 
sult its  pages. 

It  also  contains  a  Horoscope  and  Fortune  Teller, 
and  is  full  of  information  on  many  other  subjects 
of  like  interest. 

Of  pocket-book  size,  it  can  be  carried  without 
inconvenience.  Its  sale  thus  far  has  been  phenom- 
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The  Mascot  Dream  Book  is  for  sale  by  all  newsdeal- 
ers, or  it  will  be  mailed  to  any  address  on  receipt  of  10  cents 
by  the  publishers.     Address 

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Age  of  Reason. 

BEING  AN  INVESTIGATION  OP 

True  and  Fabulous  Theology 


THOMAS    PAINE, 

S2CBB7ABY  TO  THE    COMMITTEE  OP  FOREIGN  AFFAIB&  W 

THE  American  Revolution. 


The  Age  op  Reason  is  undoubtedly  one  of  the  ablest 
and  boldest  arguments  ever  put  forth  against  the  Bible  as 
being  the  inspired  word  of  God 

Its  author,  although  born  in  England,  warmly  espoused 
the  cause  of  the  patriots  in  the  American  Revolution,  and 
wrote  and  published  several  pamphlets  at  that  time  which 
renewed  the  determination  of  the  men  of  '76  to  conquer  oi 
die. 

He  afterward  went  to  France,  and  at  the  time  of  the 
French  Revolution  was  a  member  of  the  Convention.  A 
motion  being  made  in  that  body  to  exclude  foreigners,  of 
which  there  were  but  himself  and  one  other,  and  as  he  was 
particularly  referred  to  by  the  mover  of  the  resolution,  he 
conceived  that  he  had  but  a  few  days  of  liberty,  and  imme- 
diately proceeded  to  write  the  second  part  of  the ''Age  of 
Reason,"  the  first  part  having  l)een  written  some  time  before. 
Shortly  after  it  was  finished,  Thomas  Paine  was  arrested  as 
a  foreigner  and  conveyed  to  the  prison  of  the  Luxembourg. 
He  contrived  on  his  way  there  to  call  on  .loel  Barlow,  and 
put  in  his  hands  the  manuscript  of  the  second  part  of  the 
*'  Age  of  Reason,"  addressed  to  the  protection  of  the  citizens 
©f  the  United  States. 


AGE  OF  REASON, 

id  two  Parts.  Complete  in  One  Book.  e; 

PRICE   25  CENTS.  S 

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THE  SEASIDE  LIBRARY. 


POCKET    EDITION. 


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^73 

2174 
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2184 
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2186 

2187 

2188 

2139 

2190 

2191 

2192 

2193 

2194 

2195 

2196 

2197 
2198 
2199 

2200 
2201 

2202 


Junie's  Love-Test.  By  Laura 
Jean  Libbey 25 

All  for  Love  of  a  Fair  Face. 
By  Laura  Jean  Libbey 25 

A  Struggle  for  a  Heart.  By 
Laura  Jean  Libbey 25 

Little  Rosebud's  Lovers.  By 
Laura  Jean  Libbey 25 

Beautiful  lone's  Lover.  By 
Laura  Jean  Libbey 25 

Daisy  Brooks.  By  Laura  Jtian 
Libbey 25 

Paula.  A  Sketch  from  Life. 
By  Victoria  Cross 2f 

The  Midnight  Marriage.  By 
Mrs.  Sumner  Haydeu 25 

The  Triumph  of  Death.  By 
Gabriele  D'Annunzio 25 

The  Marchioness  Afjainst  the 
County.  By  Edward  H.  Cooper  25 

Simlight  and  Limelight.  By 
Francis  Gribble ^. 25 

Queechy.  By  Elizabeth  Weth- 
erell 25 

Cyrano  de  Berererac.  A  Play  in 
Five  Acts.  By  Edmond  Ros- 
tand   25 

The  Song  of  Miriam.  By  Marie 
Corelli 25 

Lorrie;  or,  Hollow  Gold.  By 
Charles  Garvice 25 

His  Perfect  Trust.  By  Char- 
lotte BI.  Braeme 25 

Shorter  Stories.  By  Honor6 
de  Balzac 25 

Anna  Kar6nine.  By  Count 
Lyof  Tolstoi 25 

Kreutzer  Sonata,  The.  By 
Count  Lyof  Tolstoi 25 

'Lena  Rivers.  By  Mary  J. 
Holmes 25 

The  Boat  Club.  By  Oliver  Op- 
tic     25 

Ballads  and  Other  Verses.  By 
Rudyard  Kipling 25 

Inez:  A  Tale  of  the  Alamo.  By 
Augusta  J.  Evans 25 

The  Royal  Chase.  By  Am6- 
d6e  Aciiard 25 

All  Aboard.    By  Oliver  Optic.  25 

Beacon  Lights.    By  E.  ^iVerner  25 

Now  or  Never.  By  Oliver  Op- 
tic   25 

Rubdiy^t  of  Omar  Khayydm.  25 

Aire  of  Reason.  By  Thomas 
Paine 25 

Manon  Lescaut.  By  L'Abb6 
Pr6vost 25 


2203  Hnsband  and  Foe.    By  Effle 

Adelaide  Rowlands 2o 

2204  The  Man  She  I  oved.    By  Effie 

Adelaide  R(»wlands „  25 

2205  Cast  Up  by  the  Tide.  By  Dora 

Delmar 25 

2206  The  Scent  of  the  Roses.    By 

Dora  Delmar 2? 

2207  Woman,    the    Mystery.    By 

Henry  Herman 2S. 

2208  Christie  Johnstone.    By  Char- 

2209  Black  Rock!  *By  Ralph  Connor  25 

2210  The  Story  of  L'Aiglon.    From 

the  French  of  *'Carolus"....  25 

2211  Through  Green  Glasses,     By 

F.  M.  Allen 25 

2212  Going   Through  West   Point. 

By  a  West  P(  )int  Cadet. ......  25 

2213  One  Man's  Evil.    By  Effie  Ad- 

elaide Rowlands 25 

2214  An  Englishwoman's  Love  Let- 

ters  25 

2215  The  Type -Writer   Girl.      By 

Olive  Pratt  Rayner 25 

2216  Klizabeth    and    Her   Germj^n 

Garden  25 

2217  The    D  a  n  v  e  r  s  Jewels.      By 

Mary  Cholmondeley 25 

2218  Dora  Deane.    By  Mrs.  Mary  J. 

Holmes ^o 

2219  Old  Hagar's  Secret.    By  Mary 

J.  Holmes 25 

2220  Beulah.     By  Augusta  J.  Evans  25 

2221  Tlie    Mother-in-Law,    By  Mrs. 

Emma  D.  E.  N.  Southworth. .  25 

2222  "By  the  Waters  of  Babylon.'* 

By  John  Baker  Hopkins 25 

2223  A  Fortnight  at  the  Dead  Lake. 

By  Paul  Heys*e 25 

2224  Mrs.   Austen.       By  Margaret 

Veley 25 

2225  Salathiel,  the  Wandering  Jew. 

Bv  George  Croly 25 

2226  Only  a  GirFs  Love.    By  Chas. 

Garvice 25 

2227  L  e  o  1  a  Dale's  Fortune.      By 

Charles  Garvice 25 

2228  Only  One  Love.    By  Charles 

Garvice 2t 

2229  His    Guardian    Angel.      By 

Charles  Garvice  21 

2230  Peg  Woffington.    By  Charles 

Reade 25 

2231  The  Chouans.    By  Honor6  de 

Balzac 25 

2232  Madame  Bovary.    By  Gustave 

Flaubert 25 


The  foregoing  works  are  for  sale  by  all  newsdealers,  or  will  be  sent  to  any 
address,  postage  free,  on  receipt  of  25  cents  per  copy,  or  we  will  send  nine 
books  for  two  dollars.    Address 

GEORGE   MUNRO'S   SONS,    Publishers, 
(j».  0.  Po3e  1781.)  3.7  to  ^7  Y?in^ew^ter  Str^^t,  l^'^w  Toy^ 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THJbl  LAST  DATE 
STA3MPED  BELOW 

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THIS    BOOK   ON    THE   DATE   DUE.    THE   PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY    AND     TO     $1.00     ON     THE    SEVENTH     DAY 
OVERDUE. 

^^^  e  wm 

MAR  /3r.t94C- 

iMMttflV  r\9Li   II    1 

5ENT  ON  lUU 

JUL  '^  1  1999 

U  C  BERKELEY 

LD  21-: 

m  54916 


966794 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


